My Way
by skittfanatic
Summary: A tough, modern girl finds herself in unexpected surroundings - and although she reluctantly accepts the help others - and nothing seems to go right sometimes - she's bent on making a lasting impression. Her way. Update: Feb. 2013 - **Working on the final chapters **
1. Chapter 1

Hi there everyone! Long time reader here, but this is my first story - so please don't be _too_ tough on me :) Reviews are much appreciated! And as always, I don't own Newsies, any of the characters, etc. Just "Red".

So here. we. go.!

* * *

**Chapter 1**

I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it. The bright light of day blinded me, and I squinted them back shut. I gave a full body stretch, feeling as though I was waking up after a long nap, but only to find my arms and legs running into sharp corners at every inch. Clearly, this was not my pillow-topped bed.

Gingerly lifting one lid, I took in everything. I appeared to be lying on a pile of wooden crates. Brick walls in front of and behind me; was I in an alley? The road was hard packed dirt. What the hell was all this?

As I struggled to stand up, I tried to place myself. Clearly I'd had a little too much fun the night before and somehow drank myself into this pile of garbage. But I couldn't remember having ever gone out. _I'm way too old for this…_

Silently cursing my love of Jameson, I was barely on my feet when I spotted a familiar bag lying next to where I had been: my hiking backpack. _Hmm._ Pulling it onto my shoulders, I started walking and tried again to test my memory. I didn't get very far when I heard a shout from behind me.

"What the hell are you?!" I turned to see two rather large, strangely-dressed men begin to chase me. Before my brain could even register what was going on, I took off running in the opposite direction at full speed.

* * *

After about 10 minutes, they seemed to have given up. I stopped running and surveyed my outfit. I can see how a black Northface hooded jacket and baby blue canvas backpack might seem out of place compared to the tweed pants and suspenders of my chasers. My jeans probably stood out too, although not as much. At least my shin-high brown leather boots – a cool-weather fashion staple – fit in.

I ducked in another alley to catch my breath. Nothing here looked familiar. I tried to remember where I was –or how I got here – and came up with a blank. Looking at my bag again, a flash of memory hit me. I'd been packing it to visit my best friends. My brain stalled, then gave me another snippet – I was supposed to meet them in New York. Which this was clearly not.

Seeking further clues, I took a quick look in my bag. Clothes, laptop, phone -and a ton of cash. _Again, what the hell… is this some kind of trick?_

Still not really sure what exactly was going on, I decided that a wardrobe change was necessary. Even if this was some elaborate film set, prank, or misunderstanding, I'd rather fit in with the scenery than feel like I was running for my life again.

Fortunately, I was along a street lined with shops, and I darted in the first one that looked like it sold clothes. Positive that the two ladies inside it found me quite alarming, I quickly grabbed a pair of brown tweed pants, a matching vest, and a white button down shirt. I threw them on the counter in the center of the store, and spied some accessories just behind it. I threw a brown newsboy hat onto my pile of clothes and was about to pay for my new outfit when I realized that my backpack would still stick out like a sore thumb. I asked one of the ladies at the counter if they sold any sort of luggage or bags.

"We have some fine leather carry-alls that may meet your needs," she answered, with a combination of indignation and fear mixed on her face.

"Where." My reply was curt, as I realized how suspicious I must seem and was suddenly more anxious than ever to be out of the store and blending in.

She pointed across the shop. I ran over and quickly surveyed the wall. I choose a simple brown bag that could be worn just like my backpack, and was large enough to make a full content switch from one to the other.

I hauled it back to the counter without making eye contact, and grabbed for my wallet. At least I had all that cash.

"That will be twenty-six dollars and fifty cents," said the lady, with what I swear was a note of challenge in her voice, as if she assumed this weird girl in front of her would not have the funds to pay. I smiled to myself, both at how wrong she was and at how I'd instinctively been grabbing at six of the twenties in my wallet, not even thinking that this old-timey neighborhood would be selling things this cheap. Checking to see if I had any change, and finding none, I handed her two of my twenties.

She huffed, and began to fuss about the register. Her assistant, moving for the first time, began to wrap the clothes. I held out my left hand to stop her, as I took my change in my right. "Actually, I was wondering if I couldn't borrow your dressing room?" Making eye contact for the first time since I ran into the store, I gave them both what I hoped was a charming and innocent smile. The assistant just stared at me, clearly confused, and the other one sighed. "Make it quick. Then please leave."

Without waiting for either of them to change their minds, I ran to the back of the store and into the old-school equivalent of a changing room. I peeled off my light jacket and stripped down to my underwear. I slid the pants on first, feeling how scratchy they were against my sensitive skin. How did people wear these?

I threw the button down on over my bra, realizing that my green Victoria's Secret garment showed right through. Thank God I love vests and couldn't help having bought one. I quickly tucked the white shirt into my pants and pulled on the vest. I threw the hat on my head, and set to quick work of shifting my backpack contents from my old baby blue to my new brown leather "carry-all".

The transformation now complete, I started to dart out the fitting room when I saw my reflection in a large, self-standing mirror. My long, curly red hair was sticking out hugely from under my new hat. I set my bag down for a moment and efficiently tucked my hair under the cap. Much better. I grabbed my bag and darted out the door. Not knowing what to do with my 2012 garb, I'd not so subtly left it behind. Let the cranky clerk deal with it.

Although I still wouldn't fit in with all the ladies walking around in their ankle length dresses, I felt much less out of my place in my new clothes. Maybe most women weren't dressed like me, but at least _some _people were. Satisfied I was no longer in any immediate danger, I set upon deciding where and when exactly I was supposed to be.

I began to take in my surroundings. The street I was on was dirt. The buildings were brick. My first theory that I'd somehow landed in a film studio was quickly falling apart. How many film sets have fully functioning clothing stores? And I'd yet to see a camera or any other modern device. People were bustling about, and now that they were no longer stopping to stare at me, they seemed to be going about realistically with what seemed to be life in the early 1900s.

I'd decided that I would find a corner store and buy a newspaper. It seemed like the most logical way to find my date and location, without asking a stranger and possibly renewing a chase scene. Before I could get very far, and as if he were reading my mind, a boy in his late teens or early 20s approached me. "Care to buy a pape?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

I surveyed him, partially out of curiosity, partially to determine his threat level. He was holding up a stack of newspapers in his right hand, and holding a tall walking stick in his left. He stood a few inches taller than me with chestnut hair that was standing almost on end, contrasting with stormy brown eyes to give him a boyish yet worn look to him. And I couldn't help smiling at him as I took in the pink undershirt he wore.

"Yes, please," I answered, digging into my pocket for one of the quarters I'd received during my shopping excursion. He handed me a paper and held out his hand. I dropped the quarter in it. His eyes got big.

"It only cost a penny," he said, still holding his hand out with the quarter sitting in it.

"Oh," I replied. "Um, well that's all I have."

He eyed me warily, now determining _my_ threat level. "I don't have change."

I knew that no way was that true, especially if he'd been getting a penny for each paper he sold all morning. But confident in the fact that I had what looked like near a thousand dollars in my bag, I was not too concerned about 24 cents. "Keep it," I replied.

His dark, moody eyes lightened, and a sloppy grin took over his face. "Thank ya, miss!"

"No worries," I replied, one of my favorite responses. I then turned away and glanced down at my new purchase. I could already hear the boy looking for his next customer.

My eyes seemed to unfocus and refocus themselves as I read the banner of the paper. "April 4, 1899. New York, New York". Impossible. I read it again. It hadn't changed.

Now positive that this had to be some sort of trick, I decided to try to outsmart whoever was behind it. Someone had gone to great lengths to stage this, but there was no way that they'd thought to backdate any paper.

"Hey!" I shouted at the boy, now several yards away. He glanced nervously at me, and I was positive he was about to take off. _He probably thinks I want my money back. _Before he could take another step, I – for the second time that day – tried to smile innocently. "Do you by any chance have any of yesterday's papers left?"

Looking still nervous, but less prone to flight, he paused before answering. "Yah, I could get you one... But why would you want it?"

"Oh, you know…forgot to buy one yesterday, and I want to see what I missed," I replied, shrugging and smiling, trying to seem casual and feeling like I was failing.

"Um…okay. You'll have to follow me," he said and hesitated, before beginning to take long strides in the direction away from me.

"Thanks!" I breathed, running to catch up and falling into stride. He muttered a response that sounded like "welcome", and we continued our walk in silence. After a minute or two, he stopped walking. I glanced at him, then up at the building we were now in front of. A large green and gold sign hung above a wooden entrance door, reading "Newsboy Lodging House"

"I'll be right back," he said quietly, and disappeared inside. A second later, he was back, holding a newspaper out to me. I took it gingerly, almost afraid to look at the banner. I instead looked at the ground, suddenly acknowledging that this could be real. I really could some how be stuck in 1899. _Fantastic_,I thought sarcastically. I was reminding myself to stay calm when a voice interrupted my thoughts.

"That'll be a penny," said the boy, the dark and moody look back in his eyes. I stared back in disbelief.

"I just gave you a quarter not ten minutes ago," I reminded him.

"Yeah…but…that was for the other paper," he replied. I searched his face, and he did not appear to be joking.

I slammed my remaining quarter in his hand and stomped away, muttering that he should piss off. Behind me, I heard him give a quick laugh at me, and then I could practically feel him beaming at his good luck. _At least I made his day. The ass_.

After walking several yards, and feeling satisfied that I had stormed away far enough, I glanced down at my second paper. "April 3rd, 1899. New York, New York," it read. "Goddamnit!" I yelled, and threw the paper on the ground. As I began my angry walk again, I heard the pink-shirted boy behind me quietly say, "You sure are a strange one."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me!" I yelled, using every ounce of strength I had to keep my voice from becoming a shriek. I had money, and all I wanted to do was rent a room to stay for the night. But I'd just been told by the third concierge that their "establishment did not rent to unaccompanied women." The look on this man's face told me that, like the others, he was not going to budge on the issue. Feeling more defeated now than angry, I turned on my heel and pushed myself out the door. As if on cue, my stomach growled.

I had no idea how long it'd been since I'd eaten, and I surmised that I'd been in this strange New York of the past for at least five hours so far. It was probably around 3 p.m. _Well, if you can't get a room, you can at least get some food_.

I sighed to myself and looked around. _At least I better be able to get some food. Next thing you know, I'll find out that unaccompanied women can't buy lunch_. I shook my head at myself, and before I could begin to stress too much, I spotted a diner across the street. _Sweet Jesus_.

I made my way across the dusty road, happy for the simple luck of spotting the restaurant and happy at the promise of a sandwich and some water. I eagerly pushed open the door and headed for the counter, before stopping dead in my tracks.

Spinning around in one of the stools at the bar was the pink-shirted newsboy. "Hey! It's miss money-bags!" He gave me a sarcastic smirk, which I matched with a dark glare. I realized most of the restaurant was now staring at me.

I instinctively pulled my backpack to my front and clutched it, as I continued to head towards both him and the counter. "You want to yell that a little louder?" I hissed at him. "Besides, it ain't true." What I can only assume was the look of fear and anger on my face seemed to catch him off guard, as a brief look of surprise and regret passed through his moody eyes.

I took a seat at the other end of the counter and quickly absorbed myself in the menu, determined not to draw any more attention to myself. I quietly ordered my food, glancing to my right as I handed over my menu. I kicked myself internally as I made brief eye contact with the newsboy. He and his beautiful, mocha-skinned friend next to him had been looking at me. I pulled out the day's newspaper and busied myself with finding out what was going on in this world. _Please just let them leave me alone_.

Again, as if on cue, my thoughts were interrupted. "Hey."

I recognized the voice, and didn't have to look up to know that it was Mr. Pink-Shirt. Keeping my eyes on the paper, I responded. "Hey yourself."

I didn't see it, but the boy groaned inwardly and looked over his shoulder. His friend pointed at me and gave him the same look that a parent gives a misbehaving child.

"Hey," he said again, continuing this time, "Look…I'm sorry for being…um…being not-so-nice to ya." He'd rushed the last part out, and I glanced up to see him staring at the ground, twisting his hat in his hands. He looked not unlike a scolded puppy.

I looked back at my paper and felt most of my anger melt away. But I was also determined not to get into a long discussion. "It's fine," I muttered. A few seconds went by, and he had not moved. Feeling his eyes now on me, I looked up again.

"You…uh, you don't seem like you're from around here," he ventured. "What's your name?"

"I'm not from around here. And my name is Deidre," I replied, sighing at myself yet again. He looked at me quizzically. "I'm from Boston," I clarified, figuring this version of the truth was the easiest to stick to.

Sensing that I was no longer mad at him, he broke into his lopsided grin. "Well, nice ta meet ya. I'm Skittery, and that," he said, pointing over his shoulder, "is Mush."

I gave a small smile and waved at Mush, and he waved back enthusiastically. Then, for the first time today, something went right. The waiter brought my sandwich out, interrupting Skittery before he could ask another question. I shrugged apologetically and turned away, picking up my sandwich. A second thing went right when Skittery smiled and took the hint, going back to his friend and the beers they'd been drinking.

As I ate, I began to feel that good old Irish Catholic guilt, this time for snubbing the boy who was obviously just trying to be nice to me. I glanced to my right again briefly, and the two boys were deep in a conversation together, laughing occasionally and sipping their beers.

I grabbed a dollar from my wallet and leaned in to the bar waiter. I very quietly told him that I wanted to pay for my food, and also for the beers of the two boys. Laughably the total came to 23 cents. I pocketed my change and managed to slip out of the restaurant without catching Skittery's attention, and I was content that I'd done a good deed. Unfortunately for me, my happiness with myself caused me not to notice the two not-so-friendly brothers in bowler hats follow out behind me.

What else I didn't know was that approximately five minutes after I left, Mush looked over Skittery's shoulder and noticed that I was no longer at the bar. "Where did that girl go?" Mush asked. Skittery spun around, an unexplainable sinking feeling in his stomach. Reading his friend's face, Mush took on a worried look of his own. "Is she okay?" he asked, quieter this time.

Without missing a beat, Skittery turned back to the bar and asked to settle up. When the bar waiter informed him that the girl had already paid for their beers, Skittery briefly felt content at his luck, immediately followed by frantic butterflies in his stomach, making the sinking feeling worse. "Let's go," he grumbled quietly to Mush.

* * *

When I'd left the restaurant, my now elevated mood inspired me to give another shot at finding a room for the night. It would be 4 p.m. soon, and I wasn't entirely sure what time it would get dark. I decided I'd have better luck trying a different neighborhood, and began walking down a side street. I was shocked to find myself on the ground a moment later, the back of my head instantly throbbing.

I looked up and saw a greasy pair of boys, sporting dusty pinstripe suits and old bowler hats. One had a mustache that reminded me a modern day pedophile. My temper flared, as one hand flew to the back of my head and the other pushed my body up. "What the hell?"

The boys laughed to themselves. "We got us a real fiery girl here, don't we Morris?" The pedo-stashed boy laughed again as he said the words, and before I spit out a reply, he punched me in the stomach. Badly winded, I silently fell to the ground.

"That all the fight you got in you, girl?" The other one, Morris, spoke now. For whatever reason, the anger at everything that had happened so far today all came flooding back, and I jumped up and began punching wildly. I felt gratifying contact as my fist collided with Morris' jawbone, knocking him down. Before I could even think, I was on top of him, pelting his face with punches. It didn't last long, as his brother quickly pulled me off him and knocked me back to the ground with a hard right fist to my left eye.

Things then seemed to happen in slow motion. There was a lot of yelling. The brother yelling at Morris to get up. Morris yelling at me to give up my bag. Yelling from behind me. My bag being pried from my body. The brothers running away down the street. Paralyzed with pain and fear, I screamed about my bag as a blur of pink flew past me and after the boys. I felt gentle hands on my back, as Mush was trying to calm me. Blood trickling into my eye, the last thing I saw was Skittery raising his walking stick over his head as he ran down the street, as if he were about to strike someone. Then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"She's waking up!" I heard someone whisper loudly, as I slowly came back to consciousness. Keeping my eyes closed, I winced as I realized how badly my head was throbbing. I was apparently lying down somewhere, and I sensed a new darkness on the other side of my eyelids, as if something had put itself between me and the closest source of light. Combined with a cool pressure now on my forehead, the pounding in my brain calmed slightly. I slowly opened my eyes to see a sweet-faced boy hovering above me, holding a cool rag to my skin, and the light behind him shining around the circumference of his face, making him glow.

Sighing with the new relief in my head, I couldn't help myself. "Mush, you're an angel," I murmured. A huge grin broke across his face. At the same time, and just out of my sight, a dark cloud consumed the face of another boy.

I then immediately bolted upright, almost knocking Mush over. The flash of pink. The walking stick. "Where's...um...," I started frantically, my now panicked brain felt heavy and muddled, refusing to give me the name I wanted. "He ran by and…the fight...Is he okay?" I finished pathetically, now just hoping that Mush knew who I was talking about.

Mush didn't answer, but just looked behind me. His silence confirmed my fears. I stood up, sure that I'd find my other savior battered and broken somewhere else in the room. But my sluggish brain rebelled yet again, and I began to fall before I was even completely on my feet. Not an instant later, I felt strong fingers wrapping around my right elbow, following by a strong arm around my waist, saving me from gravity.

"Easy, lady," a familiar voice laughed. "I'm right here. And I'm fine. Now sit back down." Those same fingers and arms gently pushed me back down onto the couch.

"OhmygodSkittery," I rushed out, sighing with relief and looking up at him. He didn't seem to have a scratch on him. Oddly enough, he seemed to be in even better spirits now than before.

"Oh, so you _do_ know my name," he started, attempting a serious face before breaking into yet another lopsided grin.

I felt myself blush with embarrassment over both having forgotten his name and having assumed the worst. "I thought something happened to you. I saw you run after - " I stopped, remembering the disgusting brothers from earlier, and trying to quickly remove their image from my head. " -my bag," I finished lamely. Suddenly, a new urgency struck me. "Wait, where's my bag?" I tried to stand again, but Skittery's hand quickly reached my shoulder and pushed me firmly back into a sitting position. He reached next to the couch and produced my backpack. "Calm down, it's right here," he said, as he handed it to me.

This time, I caught him off guard. I jumped up, almost instinctually, grabbed my bag with one hand and then wrapped them both around Skittery's slender body. I felt him tense up, but he gingerly returned the hug, patting my back as if he wasn't sure what to do with his hands. Realizing I was making him feel awkward, I leaned away and discovered that I did indeed need to stay sitting. My eyes swam, and I felt myself swaying on my feet. Before I could say a word, Skittery's hands grabbed my shoulders and sat me back on the couch for a third time.

"I'm glad you're happy about your bag, but for the love of God will you stay sitting?" He sounded concerned, yet slightly frustrated. "In fact, just lie back down, will ya?"

I blushed again with embarrassment, and stared at the floor. I hated feeling silly, and I certainly didn't like feeling as vulnerable as my injuries had apparently made me. I started when I felt hands on my boots, and glanced down to see Mush guiding my legs back onto the couch. He smiled warmly at me. "Don't mind him. He's only been pacing the floor for the last hour, waiting for ya to wake up." Mush covered me in a blanket with a soft, motherly motion, and smiled at me again. "But you probably _should _rest for a bit longer before you go jumping around like that."

"Thanks. And I suppose. I just hate feeling helpless," I mumbled quietly into the edge of the blanket, now gently tucked around my shoulders.

"Helpless?!" Mush practically shouted, making me jump. "You? Helpless? HA!" I looked at him, sure that my face will full of confusion. What was he talking about?

Reading my expression, Mush laughed. "We saw what you did to the Delancey brothers. You practically broke Morris' jaw!" Mush began throwing play punches at Skittery's stomach, who responded by rolling his eyes at him and shrugging him off.

I gave a small grin to Mush as he continued his air boxing. I then shifted my gaze nervously to Skittery, who relented his frustrations with a proud smile. "You really were something kid. I ain't never messing with you again."

I felt myself beam with pride. I suppose I could accept a little care giving, knowing that they knew I was – normally – far from helpless.

"Look guys, I wanted to say - " Before I could get any farther in giving them a proper thank you for not having left me on the street, a loud rumbling sound took over control of the room. We all three looked over our shoulders to the front door. Not a moment later, and it burst open with boys of all ages running through and swallowing up the room with their noise and numbers.

I heard a chorus of "Hey Skittery" and "Hey Mush". The two boys said their hellos, and I didn't notice as they tried to nonchalantly place themselves between me and the other boys' ruckus. The noise became deafening, as my head resumed its former pounding. I was convinced it couldn't be worse, when I was spotted.

"Hey, who's that on the couch?" one of the boys asked, which elicited several more echoes of "Yeah, who is that?" The gang of boys was now surrounding me.

"It's a girl!"

"Where'd she come from?"

"Look at her eye!"

"Look at her hair!"

"Who is she?"

The boys were clearly speaking amongst themselves and not to me. I heard Mush and Skittery independently trying to answer some of the questions, but there were simply too many boys talking all at once. Feeling like a zoo animal on display, I retreated to safety by pulling the blanket over my head and sinking deeper into the couch. _I need to get out of here. Make them go away_, I silently prayed to anyone who might be listening.

My reprieve took the form of an old man, who clearly was some sort of authority among this den of teenage boys. "Get up stairs, the lot of ya. Don't you know how to respect a lady? Now get," he scolded the boys, making little shooing noises that seemed effective. I heard a quieted trample of many feet moving away from me and up the stairs across the room. Slowly the air became calm and breathable again. I peeked out from under the covers.

Skittery glanced down to meet my gaze, his eyes taking on a new mischief after having been around his friends. He smiled apologetically, his face still glowing. "Sorry about that. The lot of 'em just got done selling their afternoon papes. I didn't even realize it was this late, or I woulda warned ya."

"Where'd they go?" I asked, realizing for the first time that I wasn't entirely sure where I was.

"Upstairs to our bunks," he replied. Again reading my mind and noticing my confusion, he continued. "Ah, yeah, this is our lodging house. We, uh, Mush and I didn't know where else to take ya." He licked his lips nervously and glanced around at the dark, old building.

I found myself glancing around for the first time as well. Everything seemed just a little threadbare and in need of cleaning. Then I realized we were alone, apart from the old man from before putting behind a desk across the room. "Where's Mush?"

Skittery's eyes began to dart around the room even more, and he scratched the back of his head as he looked away. "Uh, Kloppman, um-" He pointed over his shoulder at the old man, "-Kloppman thought everyone should leave you alone to rest."

I nodded slowly, doing my best to suppress a smile. I continued to stare at him, waiting for him to make eye contact again. After a moment, he finally did. "Oh, me?" he answered my unspoken question, looking away again and giving a nervous smile. "I…uh…well…I didn't want to leave you _completely_ alone."

He glanced at me sideways, trying to judge my reaction. I smiled and looked down, and he clearly regained his confidence. "I mean, someone had to make sure you didn't try to fight Kloppman," he now was giving his full and slightly sarcastic grin. He turned to Kloppman, "You oughta see this gal's right hook!"

"Right hook, eh?" The old man slowly shuffled over. He stood over me and gave me the gaze of a stern grandfather. "You've been fighting, young lady?" He obviously already knew the answer, and he reached down and picked up my right arm, looking at my knuckles. With all the pounding in my head, I hadn't even noticed that my hand was still slowly bleeding.

"Skittery, go get my medicine kit," Kloppman said firmly. While the boy disappeared, the old man asked me quietly where else I'd been hit besides my eye. "Just my stomach," I replied.

"You've got no other injuries? Cuts, or otherwise?" He asked warily, in a way that I think was politely trying to find out if the brothers had tried any other funny business.

"No, Mush and Skittery showed up shortly after the fight started. Plus, they were just trying to rob me, I think," I answered, blushing slightly.

"Okay, child. That's good. But you be sure to look after yourself better," he chided. "I'll fix these cuts up so they should heal in a few days."

Skittery had now returned back downstairs with a small brown bag, and handed it to Kloppman. He stood at my shoulder, looking expectantly as to what the old man was going to do.

Kloppman pulled out a small bottle of brown liquid and a clean looking white rag. He handed the rag to Skittery and told him to rip it in half, then give us some room. My eyes stayed on the small brown bottle in Kloppman's hands, and I heard the sound of fabric tearing over my shoulder.

Holding my hand as gently as he could in his callused fingers, Kloppman dropped a small amount of iodine onto my raw knuckles. I gasped, sucking in air and holding my breath to avoid swearing at the pain. I'm not positive, but I thought I heard a similar gasp from across the room, following mine. One of the white rag/bandages was tied around my knuckles, and Kloppman turned to look at my eye.

"This one might hurt a little more," he said to no one in particular, as he was now looking back at the little bottle in his hand. "Skittery, come back over here."

Like an obedient nurse, the boy in pink was back by our side. "I'll need you to hold her head still, so this doesn't get in her actual eye," he said and looked back at me. "This will hurt, so just try to stay still, okay?"

I nodded and bit my lip, as Skittery very gingerly put a hand under my chin and another on my forehead. Fearing the worst, I squinted my eyes closed tightly. A drop of warm liquid began to burn the cut above my eye. I stayed bravely silent for a moment, waiting for the pain to dissipate like it had in my knuckles. But it burned on.

"Does it still hurt, dear?" The old man asked, a sense of guilt or worry in his voice. I couldn't tell which.

I tried to nod, afraid to open my mouth for fear of yelling, but Skittery's firm hand stopped me.

"I think that's a yes," he answered for me.

"Must already be infected," he muttered. Then, "Hold on dear."

My eyes were still pinched shut, but I heard him unscrewing the bottle again. My left hand moved from gripping the couch to clinging to Skittery's forearm behind me. He let go of my forehead and slid his arm back so that I was grasping his hand now. His other hand still firmly under my chin, I felt another searing drop of iodine hit my face.

"That oughta do it," Kloppman said, as I heard him start to shuffle away.

I gritted my teeth and my hold on Skittery's hand tightened; the burning was more intense this time. "It'll pass in a minute," he whispered to me, "Just keep your head back." His hold disappeared from under my chin and I felt his hand wrap around the death grip I had on his left fingers. He rubbed it gently, like he was trying to warm my hand up. I relaxed, both calming from his action and from the now receding pain above my eye. I heard Kloppman shuffling back over, and he placed the other white bandage over my cut.

"Now I don't expect a pretty thing like you to wear this around, but keep it over your eye for a least a bit. And keep ya hand covered for at least a day," he instructed me. My left hand still in Skittery's, I held the rag over my eye. Once again, Kloppman shuffled back to his desk and absorbed himself in his book keeping.

"That's a good look for you," came Skittery's voice over my shoulder again. I realized I was still holding his hand, and I let go.

"Oh yeah, with half my face covered?" I joked back.

"Yeah, ya look like a pirate. Real scary," he replied, unable to finish his sentence without starting to laugh.

I gave him a death stare with my good eye, and he cracked up even more.

"So, do pirates need to eat?" He asked, once he recovered from laughing.

"They probably should," I answered, wishing I could roll my eyes at him. "What time is it anyway?"

"Near seven."

"What?" I was alarmed. If it wasn't dark already, it would be getting dark soon. And I had no place to stay yet. I glanced at Skittery, and an idea began to form in my head.

"You'll feel better if you eat something. How's about I buy you dinner?" He was grinning now, and held up two quarters for me to see.

"You're a brat," I laughed at him. "Besides, you rescued my bag. I'll buy you dinner. And a beer."

"You had a terrible afternoon. And I had a good one," He waived the quarters again. "I'm buying."

"No you're- "

I was cut off as Kloppman shouted at us. "You two. Out. Now. Argue outside," he started sternly. "Just…don't punch him," he ended with a smile in my direction.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

The walk to dinner was quick. I've always made friends easily, but I was surprised at how little effort I had to put into my conversation with the boy. Despite his lack of formal education, and occasional less-than-correct speech patterns, Skittery struck me a pretty smart guy. His dry sense of humor went a long way too.

* * *

"So, whatcha got in that bag anyway? Bricks?" he asked, nosing my pack with the toe of his boot.

We were once again sitting at the counter of Tibby's, only this time together.

I laughed at him. The bag was kind of heavy, and was still full of most of the things that I'd been taking to the 2012 version of New York. Most of the weight came from my laptop, and other miscellaneous things I'd packed included my cell phone (which killed me a little bit to keep stashed away, but not only did it obviously not get service, but it was definitely a little more than peculiar to have out in public), a book, a bottle of water, makeup, and random clothes like a sweatshirt, socks, and underwear. I also had a pair of H&M underwear - still in the scandalous David Beckham box- that I'd planned to give to my best friend. I laughed to myself at how out of place they would seem.

Keeping the truth a secret, I smiled innocently and said, "Just girl stuff. Clothes and what not."

"Sure ya do," he grinned back, clearly not believing me for a second. "Mush complained about carrying it the whole way back to the lodging house earlier. I said we should open it while you was out cold, but he wouldn't let me." He blushed slightly at his confession, a mischievous twinkle still making its way into his eye.

"Well, I'll have to thank Mush later. At least he knows better than to go through a lady's things," I teased him.

"Most New York ladies ain't as interesting as you Boston gals," he answered.

"Is that so?" I replied, wondering exactly how much he'd put together about how I didn't exactly fit in.

He nodded thoughtfully, chewing the big bite he'd just taken from his sandwich.

"So, you must be well acquainted with quite a few New York ladies then," I countered, attempting to shift the spotlight away.

He swallowed, and grinned brightly, "Well, as a matter of fact," he looked at me, and the bravado disappeared as he remembered he wasn't talking to the boys. "As a matter of fact," he continued a bit more seriously, "I don't have to know a lot of ladies to know I never met one like you before."

I looked at the counter, not knowing how to answer that. The boy was smart. Part of my brain told me it would be better to get away from him and stop drawing attention to myself. The other part enjoyed that I wasn't completely alone and seemed to actually be making a friend. Or something like that anyway.

I flagged the bartender and ordered us each a beer. They appeared on the counter before us, and Skittery busied himself reading the label for a moment. Then he turned towards me and he took a sip.

"Well?" he asked, searching my eyes for something.

"Well what?" I cursed his question silently under my breath.

"What are you doing in Manhattan all by yourself?"

"I- uh...- I came here this morning to meet my best friend. But when I got here, I realized he wasn't coming," I answered, keeping it vaguely truthful.

"So are you going back to Boston then?" he asked, glancing back at his beer label.

"Maybe I should," I answered honestly. "But I know if I went there now, there wouldn't be anything there waiting for me." The reality of the statement hit me as I said it.

"Oh," he said, peering at me with one eye from under his eyebrow. He'd begin to peel the label off his beer, and he played with it at he spoke. "So, then, now what?"

"I don't know," I said quietly.

"You don't strike me as the kind of girl who don't have a plan," he replied just as quietly. He straightened up and put his beer on the counter.

His observation brought a small grin to my lips. "Well, I do have one idea..." I started.

"Mmhmm," he mumbled through his latest sip of beer. " And what's that?" he asked

"So, earlier I tried to rent a room for the night. And no one would let me on account of me being alone," I watched his face as I spoke. "So, um, would you be willing to go with me to help me get a room? Pretend to be my husband or something?" I asked, suddenly realizing that it might sound like an awkward proposition. His eyebrows went up.

"Only to get the room of course. I'd stay there alone," I filled in quickly. "I just have no where else to go tonight and I don't know how else to get a room." The rest of my words rambled together as I spoke fast.

He grinned as I trailed off pathetically and shyly, but he didn't say anything.

"Never mind," I said darkly, "It was a bad idea. Forget I asked." I turned back to the counter to focus on my beer. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him still grinning at me.

"Would ya quit looking at me?" I growled. "Drink your beer."

He turned back towards the corner, still grinning. "I'll help ya," he said finally.

I glanced sideways at him. "It'd be no funny business," I clarified again. "I can give you some money for your help. But that's it."

"Oh I know," he said, still facing forward and still smiling. "And you don't have to pay me."

"Then why are you grinning like a madman?" I grumbled at him.

"Because you hate asking for help. But you asked me," he replied, turning towards me again.

"You are a mad man," I countered, rolling my eyes at him, knowing that he was completely right.

"And you're a bit of a mad woman," He grinned. "Good thing it suits us." He stood up, holding out his arm Shall we, darling?"

I couldn't help but smile back. I set some coins on the counter and took his arm.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

I took a break from yelling every insult I could muster, spit violently at the concierge, and finally felt Skittery's arms wrap roughly around me, pulling me backward towards the door.

I struggled, but his tightening grip told me I wouldn't win a fight against him. I gave in and a moment later, the cool night air hit my face.

Skittery burst out laughing as he let me go.

"That. Was. Incredible," he said between gasps of laughter, and bending over as a new wave of hysterics hit him.

I huffed. This only made him giggle harder.

Our trip had not gone according to plan. The concierge had recognized me from my earlier attempt at a room, and had made some snooty comments suggesting that I was trying to turn tricks in his room, and I don't think my newly sported black-eye was doing much to help the matter. Needless to say, it hadn't ended well. For the concierge.

"Skittery!" I half yelled, and half laughed his name, my angry facade fading as the contagious humor hit me.

"Yes," he looked up with watering eyes.

"What am I going to do?" The desperation of my situation sobered the mood. I glanced around to see a few people setting up camp in various corners of the street.

"Is there a good area that I could sleep outside?" I asked, my mind beginning to reel.

Skittery's laughter died down a tiny bit, but he was still laughing as he put his arm around me. "You can stay at the lodging house if you don't mind sharing a room with a bunch of boys," he said. "'Sides, you should be there when I tell them all what you just did!" Fresh waves of laughter overtook him.

* * *

I followed Skittery slowly into the lodging house, unsure if this was really the best course of action. Kloppman, however, didn't seem surprised that I was back. I stood awkwardly by the couch that I'd been lying on several hours earlier as Skittery had a whispered chat with the old boarding manager.

Within seconds, Skittery was back across the room and pointing the way up the stairs to the bunkroom. I pulled my hat down tightly and began to climb. I followed him closely and was about knocked down when we abruptly stopped and turned mid-flight.

"You know, I should go up first, make sure they quiet down and what not for ya," he said, signaling for me to wait and then running the rest of the way up. I sighed to myself and looked around the dark staircase, and listened to the dim roar coming from the second floor.

Moments later, I heard Skittery yelling, "Hey! I said shut-up, ya bums!" The room quieted down. I realized I was smiling to myself at this, but snapped out of it when I heard the door re-open at the top of the stairs. Skittery was waving me up, with Mush over his shoulder, signature beaming grin on his face.

I cautiously entered, head down, hoping not to draw too much attention. Luckily, Skittery's bunk seemed to be one of the closest ones, and we stopped there.

"I traded with one of the guys so I've got the bottom bunk," Skittery started to say as I set my things down. "Easier for two people to share." He looked proud of himself, but I felt a look of shock creep quickly across my face.

"Share?" I eventually squeaked out. I racked my already over-worked brain but couldn't remember anything about sharing a bed. I looked around to see that every bed was taken, and that several beds had two or more smaller kids occupying them. I also noticed that everyone was staring back at me. I gave a little wave, then turned back to Skittery.

"Yeah, well, the thing is," he started, rubbing the back of his head – his seemingly obvious tell for when he was nervous – "I thought there would be at least one empty bed but it's still chilly at night, even in April. So it's full up."

I stared at the floor, not sure what to say, or do. Should I leave?

"I mean, I suppose I could see if one of the other guys wants to share…" he started.

I glanced over my shoulder at the boys in the room, then at the size of the bed. I was definitely smaller than his would-be-bunkmates, and it didn't seem fair to expect him to share the tiny bed with his friends. I shook my head and said that there was no need to do that. I proposed me heading back outside, but he refused. I still felt all eyes on me as Skittery and I quietly debated, but the room began settling again into a dull roar around us.

"Let's see that shiner!"

Before I could even acknowledge that the shout was aimed at me, one of the older boys had climbed onto the top bunk next to me and yanked my hat off my head.

The room was once again completely silent, apart from the quiet "whoa" that escaped the boy's lips. I wasn't sure which one had stopped him in his tracks – my bright purple eye, my bright red hair, or the vicious look I was giving him. I snatched my hat out of his hands, and it seemed to pull him out of his trance.

"Who's your lady, Skitts?" said the boy, with a stupid grin on his face.

I heard Skittery start to respond, but I quickly stopped him with a curt "don't". Turning back to this boy, who looked a bit foolish in western garb, complete with a red bandana, I was ready to take out the day's frustrations on him.

"My name's not important to you, and I'm not anyone's lady," I started. I was interrupted from across the room by a voice that must have belonged to Mush.

"Careful, Jacky, she's got a mean right hook!"

I continued to let my stare bore into his face as he jumped down from the bunk.

"Is that so? You give as good as you get?" He walked closer to me and made to put his hand near my bruised eye. I quickly shoved him hard.

"Don't touch me," I hissed as he landed on the bottom bunk with a laugh.

"Easy there, Red," he smiled. "No one here's gonna hurt ya." With that, he turned around and walked back into the center of the room. "All right boys," he announced, "I think it's almost time for lights out."

I turned back to Skittery, who had an expression of both being impressed and dumbfounded.

"Sorry about that," I started. "Did I just make a big mistake?"

"I'm not sure yet," he answered, breaking into that grin. "Red suits you, by the way. And you have to stay now. You've got a nickname – you're in."

For some weird reason, I found this a little relaxing. A little security in an otherwise crazy day. I smiled back. "Fine, I'll stay."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

I sat on the side of the bed, the weight of the day really finally hitting me. _How on earth did I end up here_? I glanced up to see that the room was pretty much empty, most boys having gone to the washroom before bed. I took the moment to quickly shift the money from my bag into the bottom of my boots. Hopefully, Skittery wouldn't mind me wearing them to sleep. Something told me it probably wouldn't matter.

A moment later, I felt the springs coil as someone sat on the bed behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see a very clean Skittery, clad in only his pink long johns. His hair was wet and standing on end as if he'd just washed it.

"I figured I should clean up if I'm sharing my bed with a lady," he smiled, wiggling his eyebrows.

I was too tired to tell what my expression was in response, but he quickly stopped smiling and said he was just kidding. I smirked at him, and he relaxed and grinned again.

I noticed most of the other boys filtering back in the room as well, and Kloppman appeared out of no where to announce it was lights out.

Skittery laid down and patted the bed next to him. I awkwardly laid down as well with my back to him and my head on the mattress, my body on the very edge of the bed. He didn't say anything as he pulled his blanket over us. I felt him shift a bit to get comfortable, then I felt his pillow being pushed towards me. "Here," he whispered as the lights went out. "You take it."

As I lifted my head to take the pillow, a shiver ran through me. Outside the blanket, a new frost seemed to hang over the dark room. I huddled into myself, and jumped when I finger lightly tapped my shoulder.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

I nodded. Even the tip of my nose was beginning to feel icy.

A sigh. Then, "come here."

I hesitated, weighing the options between pushing my luck with this near stranger and being cold all night. I sighed to myself, and was surprised to not to see my breath in the air. It was near summer, but it felt like it could be January for some reason. Giving up and rolling over towards him, I could see a small smile in the dark, paired with anxious eyes. The space between us now smaller by half, he gently placed his arm over my shoulder. "Better?" he asked.

Suppressing another shiver, I moved the rest of the way closer and answered him by burying my cold face in his warm chest. He gave a small laugh and rested his head on top of mine. It felt like I'd known him for years. His hand gently on my back, I succumbed to my exhaustion and fell instantly asleep.

* * *

I woke up slowly the next morning, feeling both warm and quite rested, wondering how long I'd slept. I opened my eyes as I was reaching for my phone on my nightstand, and several things occurred to me simultaneously.

First, that was not my nightstand. In fact, this was not my room, and there was a bunk bed three feet away from me with another person sleeping in it.

Second, any attempt to move my body caused a strong, dull ache to rack every bone in my body.

Third, the pain aside, my reach was cut short by a heavy weight behind me, holding me to the bed. I glanced down to see an arm draped around my waist. I'd apparently rolled over in the night, but his arm had remained. Then the entire previous day came flooding back to me. _There goes my "It was all a dream" theory_.

My movement caught the attention of a still-asleep Skittery, and I felt his grip around me tighten as he pulled me into a one-armed, sleep-induced bear hug. Although I couldn't' see him behind me, I pictured it looking something like the way a sleeping child would cling to his teddy bear during a dream. The warmth and pressure of his body along mine was soothing to my aches, and I was surprised to find it calming my nerves as well. Seeing how everyone else was still sound asleep, I closed my eyes and fell back asleep to Skittery breathing softly on my neck.

I'm not sure how much time went by, but this time I awoke with a start. Kloppman was making his rounds in the bunkroom, waking the boys up by shouting at them.

"Mrrmm," Skittery groaned behind me, burying his face between the pillow and my hair. "I don't wanna get up."

"I don't think you have much of a choice," I replied, trying not to laugh as Kloppman made his way around the room again.

Needing to wake up myself, and wondering exactly how painful my body was going to feel today, I gingerly stretched my legs. _Doesn't seem too bad, and I'll probably - _My thoughts were cut short. I'd leaned against Skittery as I was stretching, and my lower back had just brushed up against a part of him that was very much awake. I felt his head shoot up off the pillow and we were both momentarily frozen in an awkward shock.

"Sorry," I broke the silence, scooting my hips forward on the bed and away from him.

"No – I, uh, dammit," he muttered as he quickly and clumsily rolled out of bed behind me and crashed onto the floor. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see a _very_ red-faced boy dart into the washroom.

"Ugh," I groaned to myself, as I rolled on my back and pulled Skittery's scratchy blanket over my head. It really wasn't that big of a deal to me. I mean the situation wasn't perfect, but I also knew that boys just woke up like that sometimes. This was, however, 1899 and I wasn't entirely sure how taboo this might be to him. _He was nice enough to share his bed with me after only knowing me one day – we got along that well. It'll be fine_, I reassured myself.

Realizing that it had become fairly quiet in the bunkroom, I lowered the blanket and looked around. I could still hear the other boys, but they'd all moved onto the washroom and were getting ready for the day. I glanced at the end of the bed to find that Skittery's pants, hat, and walking stick were gone.

_So much for it being fine_, I thought as I realized he'd already left.

"'Morning Sunshine!" Mush wandered over, looking very much the morning person. "How are ya today?"

"Sore," I said, giving a little smile. As frustrated as I felt, it was impossible not to smile around Mush. His grin was contagious. "But better than yesterday."

"Great! And hey, uh," he started, and I noticed that his face fell a bit, "Skitts had to go do something early, so he left. He said you'd understand." Mush looked confused as he said it, clearly unsure about his friend's behavior.

"Oh, okay. Thanks," I felt myself blush as I answered.

"Eh, we don't call him Skittery for nothing," Mush replied. I wasn't sure if he connected the dots or was just making a general statement. "And, um, I'm not sure what you'se doing today, but how'd ya like to sell with me?" He flashed another toothy white grin.

"Yeah?" I asked, intrigued. "I could probably do that for a while."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

If Mush guessed my ulterior motive for suggesting we wander around Manhattan while he sold his papers, he didn't let on. As we entered Mid-town in the early afternoon, I finally spotted Skittery leaning dejectedly against the corner of a building.

I glanced at Mush, who had also spotted his friend and had started heading his way. I was hoping the extra sandwich I'd stashed in my bag from lunch might put him in a better mood to talk.

"Hey, Skittery!" Mush called out, a huge smile on his face, as always. Skittery appeared to perk up slightly at the sight of his friend, but his face fell again as he spotted me trotting up behind.

"What's wrong?" Mush asked, clearly oblivious.

Skittery glanced at me then scowled at the ground. "Just a crummy selling day," he muttered.

Mush, who'd sold most of his papers by now, glanced over his shoulder at me, then back at his friend. I too was staring at the ground, a frown growing on my face. _What is his problem?_

"Oooh kay," Mush drew out, sighing under his breath. "I think I'm going to go sell ma last pape and let you two lovebirds talk."

I was surprised Skittery's eyes didn't burn a hole in Mush's back as he walked away, leaving too quickly to see he'd clearly said the wrong thing to his friend.

"I brought you a sandwich. Roast beef," I said quietly, digging the food out of my bag. Skittery kept his eyes on his friend's back and didn't seem to register my comment.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked, even quieter this time.

"Yeah, maybe I am. I don't need your charity," his voice grew louder with each word. "And this is my life. Not some toy for you to show up out of the blue and play with. Pretend you're already bored with me and just go back where you came from," he yelled, the venom palpable in his voice.

"It's not charity!" I yelled back, throwing the sandwich at him like a child. "And what are you talking about? We barely know each other. But don't worry, I won't bother you any more." Alive with anger, I turned on my heel and attempted to storm away. But after a few steps, my pace involuntarily slowed as a new sadness washed over me that I didn't quite understand. After all, I barely knew this guy. I took a deep breath, intending to steady my nerves, but a loud sob came out instead. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head jerk in my direction. I gritted my teeth, determined not to cry, and made the rest of my departure in silence.

I walked wordlessly back along side Mush and stood quietly while he sold his last paper.

He finally turned to me. "What was that about?"

"I'm not really sure," I replied, a new anger at Skittery washing over me. "I seem to have overstayed my welcome with him."

"I doubt that," said Mush with a smile. "You don't know him like we do."

I looked at him for further explanation.

"Let's just say," started Mush, "that if Skittery isn't cranky to ya sometimes, he don't care about ya. Although," he laughed, "this is probably the fastest I ever saw him get worked up."

"About a girl, or in general?" I asked, wondering to myself why even as I said it.

"Hm. Skittery don't hang around too many girls, actually," Mush replied thoughtfully. He chewed his lip a moment, then said "I think you'd be really good for him."

"That's not what I meant," I answered quickly. "Plus, he made it clear he wanted me gone, anyway."

"Yeah, sure," smiled Mush, but I wasn't sure which part of what I said he was replying to. "How's about we take the long way home, through the park?" And just like that, the topic was dropped.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

As Mush and I approached the lodging house, I saw Skittery milling outside, kicking at the dirt and avoiding eye contact as several of his fellow bunk mates headed in.

"Told ya so," Mush said as he elbowed me in the ribs.

I felt myself slow, unsure what I wanted to say to Skittery. I hadn't yet decided what I was going to do for the night and had been hoping Mush would offer to share his bunk with me. Instead, I heard a faint voice telling me he would meet me inside later, okay? I snapped to and realized I'd stopped walking. Mush was a few steps ahead and staring at me expectantly.

"You gonna be alright?" he asked, his grin fading into slight concern.

"Oh, yeah," I gave a forced smile back. "Sorry, just got lost in my head."

His grin returned. "See ya inside!" He trotted happily towards the building, clapping Skittery on his shoulder as he went. Skittery's eyes remained on the ground as he shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other, and back again.

I kept my distance and felt myself cross my arms in defiance. While a small part of me was glad to see him waiting for me, that same sight brought all my other feelings back to the surface.

"So…" he started, taking a few hesitant steps towards me once we were alone in the street. "I'm quite the ass, aren't I?"

"Yes." I said bluntly, not moving.

He sighed. "Would it help if I said I'm sorry?" he asked, finally looking me in the eye.

"It might be a start," I replied with an icy stare.

"Well I am. Sorry." He looked at the ground for a moment, then back up at me, squinting in the sun. "What else can I do?"

I glared at him, wishing he knew the answer. I wish _I_ knew the answer. Frustrated, I broke my gaze and glanced up. The second story boardinghouse windows were lined with newsboys, watching the drama unfold below them. Skittery followed my gaze and looked over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about them too," he muttered, his eyes returning to the ground.

I shot the boys a dirty look and marched towards the building, determined to get out of the limelight. I grabbed Skittery by his elbow, dragging him with me. Once out of view, we stopped, and my anger took over. I smacked his arm. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I growled, giving him another small shove to the stomach. Then another.

"I really don't know," he answered. "But I really am sorry. And I get it. You can stop hitting me now."

I gave him one more smack for good measure, and sighed as I took a step back.

"Do you really want me to go away?" I asked, my voice smaller than I intended it.

He glanced at me, squinting again, but this time with no sun in his eyes. "No," he said firmly, looking back at the ground as if ready for me to deliver another blow.

I followed his gaze down and noticed that one of his boots was untied. I walked over, knelt down, and tied it silently. He held out his hand, pulling me up next to him as I took it. I gave him another smack to the stomach, with much less anger behind it this time. I felt his arms begin to wrap around me. "I'm still angry at you," I warned.

"I know," he replied, pulling me against him, and I felt his head rest on top of mine.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

When we headed up to the bunkroom that evening, the boys pretended –badly, in my opinion – to be going about their own business. Skittery shrugs behind me, somewhat used to the lack of privacy from the other boys, but I can also tell he's not used to being the center of attention.

I made eye contact with Mush, who is giving a very poor performance of very busily studying yesterday's headlines. I smile at him, and he his toothy beam replaces his serious expression. He in turn smacks the one-eyed blond and Italian next to him.

"Gig's up boys, we've been had," he laughs as the boy with the eye patch smacks him back.

"Thank Heavens!" The Italian removes his cigar from his mouth only long enough to say this loudly. "Who's ready for some Blackjack?"

Having apparently made the commitment to be friends with Skittery and Mush – combined with the fact that I had nowhere else to go – I decided to go all in.

"I am." I headed towards the middle of the room where the boys were gathering, Skittery following close behind. I could _feel_ him rolling his eyes at the back of my head.

The boys stopped and looked at the boy who was arranging the game. He chewed his cigar for a moment, then shrugged. "Why not?" he responded. "I don't discriminate on whose money I'se takes."

His thick accent was hard not to laugh at as he said this, but seeing as I'd seemed to offend several people in the short time I'd been here so far, I bit my tongue.

Skittery piped up. "How about some introductions, first, eh? Maybe then we can all play nice." He shot a look at the Italian.

"Hey, I'm just the dealer, she's the one who wants in," he gave his own look back to his taller friend. "But I suppose that's fair. You can call me Racetrack."

"Seems fitting," I offered.

He shrugged as he shuffled the cards, and elbowed the boy to his right, who was apparently named Swifty. Each boy in the smaller group introduced himself – after Swifty was Blink and Mush, then on the other side of Skittery were Specs and Dutchy. I made an effort to memorize the boys' names and was grateful there weren't more players.

The games went on for an hour or two, and operation ice-breaker had worked. The guys were easy to talk to, and I very proudly held my own at gambling – coming in second only to Dutchy and Ractrack – who lived up to his name and took the majority of the winnings. Specs, Swifty, and Mush broke about even, with Skittery losing a bit and Blink down a whole dollar.

"For a kid who's got half his face covered, he still can't bluff for spit," laughed Race, as the boys gathered their coins and began to stand up.

"It's _not_ half-covered" scowled Blink, who sulked off to his bunk, followed shortly by an energetic Mush.

The younger kids had long since fallen asleep, and the older boys who weren't in the game had slowly filtered into the room and were beginning to do the same. I glanced over at Skittery, who was doing some minor post-game pouting of his own.

"Shall we?" I asked, taking a tentative step towards his bunk, hopeful that his losing wasn't a precursor to another meltdown.

He surprised me by giving a small smile back and nodding as I lead the way to bed. As we climbed in, he made a point to avoid any physical contact. Aware of why he was doing this, I couldn't help but remember how he always seemed to tense up any time anyone touched him, regardless of the situation.

While my mind wandered, the bunkroom lights were turned out and Skittery's rhythmic breathing let me know he'd quickly fallen asleep.

It wasn't much longer before I felt his arm around my waist. I smiled and turned, expecting to see that lopsided grin of his, but he was out-cold. I pulled the covers tighter around us, content that at least sleeping-Skittery was capable of being the platonic big-spoon. _It's a start_, I thought as my own eyelids drifted closed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Things passed quickly over the next few days, and a slight routine formed, with Skittery and I becoming almost inseparable. In the mornings, the boys would collect their papers, while I lingered nearby. One of the days, I bought a few on a whim, but I found that while I probably could have sold daily, it was more entertaining to watch Skittery work than to be teased by him for the headlines I came up with. Then, each day, following a light dinner – usually at Tibby's – most of the boys would play a nightly game of poker, five-card stud, or Blackjack.

A few nights, Skittery opted out of gambling to read a book or two to the younger kids. When I wasn't playing cards, or endearingly watching Skittery try to do the different character voices to match that night's story, I'd lie on his bunk trying to think of how – and if- I was going to get home. In fact, my brain spent most evenings in over-drive until after lights out, when it was finally lulled to submission by the rhythmic breathing of sleeping bunkmate.

I spent one afternoon by sneaking away to Central Park to try to sort out more of the details of where I was, but hadn't gotten far. Digging through my bag, I'd uncovered my bus ticket to New York from Boston, which I now remembered boarding, but the rest was a blank. I was content, however, to discover the source of my monetary windfall: I'd taken my most recent paycheck and cashed it outright, taking the one-thousand plus dollars with me to the Big Apple – according to my bank receipt anyway. On the other hand, why exactly I'd done that in the first place was still a mystery locked away in my brain.

So things continued as they were. And after the fourth day of monotony, I was glad to hear the boys were treating them to a night on the town – they were going to a show.

* * *

I smiled to myself as I watched Skittery and the other boys transfixed by Medda's latest number. Every move my fellow red-head made on the stage was followed by seemingly every eye in the house – apart from mine. After a few moments, Skittery caught me staring at him and grinned back, asking if I was enjoying the show.

"It's great. I love seeing you boys so happy over something that doesn't involve gambling," I laughed. "Although, I suppose this is just a different kind of vice."

Skittery nodded at the boys to his left who were now learning forward in their seats to watch the show. "I think you suppose right."

He made a motion as if he were going to put his hand on my arm, but as his eyes wandered to the remaining cut above my eye, he stopped and returned his hand to his lap. His smile took on a bit of sadness. "One of these days, maybe I can take you somewhere nice, finally make it up to you for getting you hurt like that."

I sighed. "Are you ever going to stop with that?" He shrugged in return, and went back to the show.

As I watched Medda flitting around the stage, Skittery's words echoing in my head, I began to get an idea. If I played my cards right - and had just a little help from that Swedish Meadowlark - I could simultaneously repay my bunkmate for his hospitality, use his guilt as an in to break down his ever-apparent waking physical boundaries, all while solidifying our relationship – or whatever it was that we had. _Three birds with one stone_.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. While the boys cheered and sang, and even broke into their own miniature dance numbers, I began to plot.

* * *

After an introduction by Mush, I'd spoken to Medda the next morning, gave her some selective insight into how I was hoping to treat my favorite newsie to a night away from the bunkhouse, and she had readily agreed to help book a room. My patience to tell Skittery was waning that afternoon, until I finally couldn't wait any longer.

"I've finally decided how you can make things up to me," I announced, bounding over to him after his customer walked away.

"Oh yeah," he laughed. "And how's that?"

"Will you let me take you away, somewhere really nice for a night? Not because I'm not happy at the lodging house, but because I want to do something nice for you. And it's _not_ charity. And don't worry about money, I've got it covered," my sentences came out fast, hoping he wouldn't have time to absorb them all and would just agree.

Skittery sighed, but gave a resigned nod. I knew he knew me well enough at this point not to bother arguing, but I did know he'd eventually try to come up with some reasons why not to go.

I, however, was happy to get my way in the here and now and I involuntarily broke into my own lopsided smile, which was soon matched by Skittery.


	12. Chapter 12

I glanced up at him as he gazed around the room, both in awe and a look of feeling slightly uncomfortable in such a nice place. He began to walk the circumference of the space, stopping to look at everything. I smiled to myself and silently hoped he'd be able to relax here.

"This is too much," he said, stopping to touch the rich fabrics of the drapes.

I shot him a "not this again" look, and turned the small clock on the nightstand towards him. "Take ten minutes, get comfortable, then meet me in the bathroom," I said, trying to keep the hint of mischievousness out of my voice. It would defeat the whole purpose of the trip if he lived up to his name and got skittish now.

"O-oh, okay," he stuttered quietly, suddenly looking like a small lost boy. My heart melted. I walked over to him, put my hand on his shoulder and stood on tiptoe to give him a little kiss on the cheek. He grinned nervously but his eyes still looked quite uncomfortable. "It'll be fun, I promise," I reassured him.

I walked back across the room and disappeared into the connected bathroom, closing the door behind me. I'd chosen this room in particular for its very large, self-standing cast iron tub. It could easily have fit three people, but I was just content it would comfortably fit two. I turned the faucets and it began to fill with deliciously warm water. Having lived in this past dystopia for almost a week – and it felt like much longer -, I was almost giddy at the presence of _warm_ running water.

I added a ridiculous amount of bubble bath to the tub, intending on creating a field of bubbles to provide some bodily cover in the water. As the large tub filled slowly, I realized that I must be nearing my ten minute mark I'd given. I pulled a stand over to the tub and set two over-sized, cushy towels on it. Quickly disrobing, I slid my newsie garb under the sink, and climbed into the tub. The water felt amazing, and I wondered again if Skittery had ever had a warm bath. I'd just barely turned my back to the door and pulled a wall of bubbles to my body when my thoughts were interrupted and I heard a noise behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder and smiled to see Skittery standing in the doorway, his face turned a dark shade of red, and he was now staring at the ceiling. "What is this?" he asked, his voice slightly higher than normal.

"Don't be silly," I replied, still smiling. "You promised me I could pamper you. And every newsie deserves a warm bath." His eyes came back down for an instant at the word warm. _I was right!_ I thought. But then they were back at the ceiling, and he nervously scratched the back of his head.

"I'll tell you what," I started, hoping he'd relax at a compromise. "If I promise to close my eyes, will you get in? You can even face away from me." I motioned at the ample room in front of me in the tub.

"Um..," he started, finally bringing his eyes back down to look at me and sighing. "Look, I think you know I want to. I just don't know if I should."

I fought back a laugh. "Please," I replied. "I'm the one practically begging you. I'm starting to feel like a girl of ill repute here."

"I don't think that," he replied softly, looking down. "Look…I just really like you, and I don't want that to get messed up. I don't want you to leave." He was blushing again, but this time he looked sad. This was the second time I'd heard him abruptly worry about my leaving, the first having been during our second-day fight in the square.

I felt a pain in my chest for him. Someone, at some point, had done a number on him. I held out my hand, and he walked over and took it. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to. But I want you to at least try to give it a chance, too."

He finally gave a small grin, and nodded. I let go of his hand, and made a show of closing my eyes and turning away. I heard a small sigh, and the 'clip' of suspenders unfastening. I stayed true to my word and kept my eyes closed even as I felt him get in the tub in front of me. After a moment the water began to still around us, and I broke the silence. "All good?" I whispered.

"I think so," he whispered back.

"How's the water feel?" I was dying to know what he thought.

"It's…amazing," he replied, and I smiled as he splashed his hands around a little in front of himself. "I have to admit, I even love the bubbles." He glanced at me shyly over his shoulder. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," I replied as he turned forward again. It took everything I had in me not to pull him tight in a hug. Instead, I slowly scooped up some water and poured it between his shoulder blades. The water came up to chest height on him, and upper back goose bumped as the water trickled down and it was once again exposed to the cold air. I did it again, on his left shoulder this time, and watched his skin prickle. Once more, this time on his right shoulder. "You know, that's not very nice," he said, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

"How else am I going to get you clean?" I laughed back at him. With that, I took the bar of soap from the stand nearby and began to rub it in circles on his back, hoping it would have a massaging effect. I felt his posture relax, and I was happy at the result. I gave him a few more rounds with the soap, just to calm him some more, and I heard a happy sigh in response. I dipped my hand in the water and ran it across his back to clear the suds, and I felt him lean back slightly against my arm. I smiled yet again.

"Lean back a little more, I want to wash your hair," I prompted. I heard him laugh.

"You think I'm a child, don't you? I can wash my own hair," he replied.

"First, I do not. Second, that wouldn't be as fun. Third, I love your hair. Please?" I asked, drawing out the please a little in what I hoped was a convincing verbal pout.

"Fine," he conceded. "But you better not tell anyone I let you do that."

"Deal," I replied, pushing his shoulders forward. "Stick your head under the water to get your hair wet."

He complied, and leaned his head towards the water. I took the momentary opportunity to look at the full of his back. His spine stuck out a little too far, the product of not enough to eat regularly, but lean muscles rippled prominently on either side. I held my breath for a moment when I saw a series of small scars spattered as well. They were light, but they were there. Some looked like small cuts, others were distinctly cigarette burns. Before I could think about it further, he was back up, water dripping down his back. He ran his hands over his face, removing the water, and then through his hair. My smile returned when he left his hair standing on end – more so than usual, from the water – and turned to grin at me.

"Come here," I smiled back, pulling him back against my shoulder, his face now parallel with mine. I wanted to kiss him, but fought the urge. I'd wait until he made the move. Instead, I grabbed my shampoo bottle from next to the tub and put the tiniest amount in my hand, determined to make it last, as I'd yet to find any equivalent to shampoo in the stores here.

I began running my fingers through his hair, building up a really good lather.

"What is that stuff?" he laughed, feeling his hair get thick with suds.

"It's a special soap, just for hair," I replied, no longer really cleaning his hair as much as I was just styling it different ways, amusing myself.

"Is that why your hair is always so shine-" he broke off with a low moan as I began to massage his scalp. "That feels incredible." He leaned farther back against me, his shoulder blades resting on my chest. I felt him tense for a moment, as if he'd realized what he'd done, but the moment passed and I felt him sink further against me contentedly. I could begin to feel his body humming as I massaged to top of his neck and around his ears.

After a minute or two more, I told him to take a deep breath and I pushed his head under the water, quickly running my fingers through his hair to get the shampoo out. He popped up a second later, and automatically rubbed his hair. Water droplets hit me in the face, and his messy hair poked out in every direction, but this time with a new shine. _God I love his hair._

"It feels…," he gave a thoughtful look. "Really clean" he finished. I could see him grinning even from behind him.

"You like it?" I asked, hiding a smile.

"I suppose I could get used to it," he gave me his lopsided smile over his shoulder. "You need me to wash your hair?"

"Hmm, I think my hair is good for now," I said, glad he'd asked. "But there are definitely a few spots on my back I can't reach."

My response was met with silence. I dropped the soap over his shoulder and into his hands. "I'll turn around, then you can." Our bubbles were holding strong, and I pulled some more around me as I spun around, splashing a little water at him as I moved; I hoped he'd quickly follow suit.

He did one better. I hadn't even heard him turn when I felt a hand on my stomach and I was pulled backwards. I was further surprised to feel that he'd stretched out his legs, and I was now nestled between them, rather than the Indian style we'd been sitting in before. The hand on my stomach disappeared, and I felt water being poured across my shoulder blades. I shivered when his finger ran a line down my spine.

"Your skin is beautiful," he murmured to me, as I felt him slowly circle the bar of soap between my shoulder blades. I responded by placing a hand just above his knee, giving him a quick squeeze.

I felt his hands bring water to my back and wipe away the soapsuds. His hands ran simultaneously down each side of my back, and slowly back up along my sides. They lingered for a moment on either side of my chest, and I felt the fingers of his right hand twitch. I held my breath, but he brought them back around to my shoulders.

"How am I doing so far?" He asked in a low, quiet voice that I'm not sure I'd heard before. I nodded in response, and then managed to return a "Good. It's good." At least on my end, the tension was thick, and I was elated he'd moved past whatever physical wall he'd seemed to have up.

"How about we take this back to the other room?" I asked, looking up at him. He nodded.

I stood up, letting the bubbles drip down my back, giving him his first full-length view. Knowing it would re-energize him after our broken moment, I grabbed one of the towels I'd set on the stand and wrapped it around me. I sauntered out of the tub, pausing at the doorway to the bedroom to glance over my shoulder. "Don't take too long."

I'd just finished drying off and climbed under the covers, when he appeared behind me. His towel was wrapped around his waist, and he looked like he'd just walked out of a Zest ad. His broad shoulders were lined with lean muscle, and his torso was a perfect V shape. His ever-moody eyes were dark, but with danced with a type of playful intensity that was startling. I was enthralled.

I lifted up the edge of the cover, inviting him in. He walked over to the bed, but hesitated for a second once there. His hand was on his towel, and I could tell he was deciding if he should take it off. Still holding the covers up, I looked away from him and back over my shoulder, giving him the moment of privacy I could tell he wanted. I heard the towel hit the floor, and felt him climb into the bed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

The next morning…

Skittery and I had woken up early, both invigorated from the good night's sleep and….other activities. And so far, my plan had lived up to all its expectations. The boy seemed happy, relaxed, and although he would (thankfully) never be one for PDA, he at least stopped tensing up any time one of my errant limbs entered his personal space. Things seemed great.

By this point, I should have known better.

"There they are!" The words were shouted loudly by a voice that was both unfamiliar and instantly made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

We'd been selling the last few of his papers by the Horace Greenly statue and had just been talking about heading to Central Park. By the time I turned my head in the direction of the voice, Skittery was already facing it, and was pushing me behind his body with one hand as his other tightened around his walking stick. I peeked around his shoulders to see the Delancey brothers and Wiesel from the paper office approaching with two police officers. Morris still had a bandage around his head, presumably from where Skittery had hit him the week prior. _You've GOT to be kidding me_.

Skittery began to back up, and we both retreated until we were up against the statue. He kept me behind him the entire time. But it wasn't long until the posse was surrounding us.

"This street rat?" asked on of the officers, poking Skittery in the ribs with his baton.

"That's him all right," answered Morris with both contempt and delight in his voice. "That's the cane he hit me with too," he gestured at Skittery's stick. "Spent a whole week in the hospital."

"Look, I don't know what you guys are -" Skittery started, but was cut off with another, harder poke to his stomach from the officer's baton.

"I didn't ask you a question, kid," said the officer.

"They call that one Skittery," offered Wiesel. "Don't know what his real name is. If he even has one."

I wrapped my hands protectively around his waist, hoping to prevent him being hit again but unintentionally drew attention to myself instead. I felt a hand wrap around my upper arm, pulling me out from behind him.

"What about the broad?" asked the other officer, holding me tightly.

"Let. Her. Go." Skittery said evenly through clenched teeth, reaching in my direction but quickly stopped with the officer's baton hard against his chest.

"She didn't do nothing," responded Oscar, with a malicious grin spreading on his face. "You can leave her here."

"Let go of her!" Skittery tried to push past the first officer, but was met with a swift baton to his head, knocking his eye against the corner of the statue base. He dropped lifelessly to the ground, and there was a smear of blood on the statue where he'd made contact.

I started screaming, and the officer pushed me towards the Delancey brothers, telling them to get me out of there. I fought hysterically, but they began to drag me away from the statue. I saw the officers pick up Skittery's limp body and the last thing I heard was that they were taking him to the refuge.

"_At least that mean's he's alive,"_ I thought to myself, _"Right?" _ I continued to scream and struggle against the brothers, not caring what happened to me but determined to get back to Skittery. A new shock hit me, however, when I suddenly was dropped in the dust, and I heard the hurried footsteps of the two boys running quickly away.

Mush was instantly crouched down by my side, looking more worried than I'd ever seen him. "Red! Red - are you okay? What happened?" he held my shoulders as I attempted to get up and run.

"Skittery. It's Skittery. We have to go," I panted, trying to get up, but he held me down.

"What about him? And you're bleeding from somewhere." Mush touched my cheek and when I looked down, there was blood on his hand. His eyes searched my face for its source. He glanced over my shoulder, and I followed his gaze to see Racetrack and Blink standing there as well. No wonder the brothers had ran away so fast.

I did my best to fight the rising panic in me and speak to the three of them calmly. "I'm not bleeding. It's Skittery. The police and Wiesel and the Delancey's came and got him for hitting Morris the day they attacked me. The police got him bad," I pointed across the street to the statue, which still had a bright red streak on the corner, Skittery's hat lying on the ground next to it. "They said they were taking him to the refuge," I finished quietly.

I saw Blink and Mush exchange a worried look, but Racetrack spoke first.

"Let's get you back to the lodging house and cleaned up," he said, motioning at Mush to help me up. "There's nothing we can do right now, but we'll get him out tonight," he said definitively.

I started to protest but he stopped me. "Us going there now will not do him any favors. We have to wait until dark. And just hope that he's conscious by then."

I walked over to the statue and retrieved Skittery's hat, and a new wave of nausea washed over me. I somehow managed to keep my composure and followed the boys back to the lodging house.

"Specs!" I heard Racetrack yell, as soon as we were upstairs, and he wandered over to our group. Racetrack barely said two words when he was cutoff by Specs staring at me wide-eyed. "Why is she always covered in blood?" he asked as if I weren't there.

"Oh, yeah," I said, touching my check with one hand while I clutched Skittery's hat in my other. I'd forgotten I still had his blood on my face. I heard Race re-begin telling what happened as I wandered away silently to the washroom.

When I came back, the four boys were in a hushed and heated conversation in the middle of the room. None of them noticed when I climbed quietly into Skittery's bunk, relaxing slightly to be back in such a familiar and comfortable place. A new wave of pain hit me as I laid my head on the pillow; it smelled so much like him. I was suddenly very tired. _Why can't this just be easy_, my last thought before I fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

* * *

I woke up a bit later to dark skies and hurried whispers around me. I was glad the other boys had left me alone to sleep – whether it was on purpose or because they simply forgot about me, I didn't really care.

Jack Kelly had finally arrived back at the lodging house just as I quietly climbed out of bed, and I could hear the other boys bringing him into their breakout plans with a sense of urgency.

"And what if he ain't awake yet?" Jack countered the other boys. "I want him out as much as the next 'a ya, but what's the rush?"

I saw Mush and Blink exchange the same look they had earlier. They then both glanced at Specs who looked around wearily before leaning in to speak softly. I snuck closer to the group to hear.

"…Snyder really laid into him last time he was there. Dunno why exactly, but he came out with all these cuts and burns. Worst I ever saw from there," Specs explained.

Jack still looked a bit confused, so Mush elaborated.

"Skitts wouldn't tell us what happened," he started, "but best we can figure is that he got after Snyder for abusin' the little kids. You know how he is with Tumbler and the lot. So Snyder probably took it all out on him."

Jack looked at the faces of his four friends and relented. "All right," he said. "We'll get him tonight." The five sat down to work out their exact plan, and I headed for the stairs with a plan of my own.

Even if they were able to get Skittery out tonight, he'd still be wanted. I owed him better than having to constantly look over his shoulder. As I headed towards the refuge, I decided I would simply buy his freedom. I had more than enough hidden in my boots - and I couldn't think of a better way to spend it.

Mush's and Specs' words echoed in my head as I made my way through the dark streets. Had he really endured that torture in an effort to protect the kids? It certainly made sense. And I'd seen the scars first hand. As abhorred as I was at this knowledge, I felt like I understood Skittery that much more.

I paused at the front of the Refuge, deciding I should get some money out ahead of time; I didn't want the warden seeing exactly how much I had. I ducked in a nearby alley, and quickly took out a hundred dollars and put it in my pocket and slid my boot back on. I hoped it wouldn't come that much, but I was willing to pay just about anything.

Giving myself a silent pep talk, I darted up the front stairs and into the refuge.

The place as dark and reminded me of my elementary school on a warm day. The hallways looked like they were in need of a cleaning, and a musky smell permeated everything.

Not sure exactly where I was going, I tried several doors. All were locked. I wandered the first floor hallway for several minutes before I came to an elaborately painted door. This was the warden's office.

I knocked once, then opened it slowly. As I entered, I saw two beady blue eyes rise slowly from a newspaper and look at me.

"Just what do you think you're doing here?" asked the sweaty man, looking me up and down. I shifted uncomfortably from what foot to the other, attempting to maintain my confidence.

"I'm here to bail someone out," I offered, meeting his stare.

He was holding a walking stick, and he waived it over the desk, motioning for me to take a seat. I slowly complied.

Once seated, I waited for him to speak. But he just stared.

"His name is Skittery, he was brought in today," I offered.

"Bail posting hours are over," he answered, continuing his hardened gaze.

"Well," I began, hoping I portrayed all the confidence I wasn't feeling, "I'm sure a business man like yourself is willing to make an exception."

"Perhaps," he responded, a nasty smile taking over his face. "But who is this boy to you?"

"That's none of your business. Just tell me how much," I spat out, wanting this over quickly. Snyder was making my skin crawl.

He glanced down at a file on his desk. "I don't have anyone by whatever name you mentioned, but I only had one boy brought in today. Michael Connolly. 19. Battery wi-" he read.

"That's him," I interrupted. "How much?"

"Well, this is one troubled youth," he said, eyeing me again. "Surely a young woman in your…position… won't be able to afford him."

I started to protest, but he continued. "However, I can tell you _truly_ care for this boy," the words came out of his mouth like oil, as he again waved his cane across the desk at me. "So I'm sure we could come to some sort of agreement." He grinned eerily again, and he ran his cane along the neckline of my shirt. As if to emphasize his point, he began to tug the collar down with the tip of his cane.

I snapped, pushing his cane away from me and standing quickly. The cane slammed to his desk under my hand, sending the buttons of my shirt flying. I leaned forward and growled at him, "Listen slimebag, I've got more money than you could imagine, and I'm leaving here with that boy." Snyder was clearly taken aback by my behavior, and his eyes widened further as I slammed a twenty down on his desk. "We square?" I asked roughly.

He sat in silence for a moment, then recovered. "Double it, and he's yours," he offered, regaining the upper hand.

"I want it in writing that he is free and clear, and that his bail was paid in full," I countered, my eyes still flashing. He didn't move. "_Now_," I growled.

He reached for his pen and began scrawling something on a piece of paper. I reached across the desk after he signed it, but he pulled it away. "Money first," he snarled.

I pulled another twenty out of my pocket, holding it tentatively across the desk. In an action that again reminded me of my elementary school, our hands quickly darted out towards what the other was holding. He snatched the money out of my hand, and I was safely holding Skittery's release form.

"Now where is he?" I demanded.

Snyder made a show of slowly getting up from his desk and heading out of the office. I followed him into the hallway and back towards the front door. "Wait outside, and I'll have him brought to you," he commanded.

Happy to be anywhere but in the smelly hallway, I stepped back into the cool evening and waited on the stoop. After several minutes, I saw the door open behind me and a pair of boys came out, holding Skittery up in between them. He was barely conscious. Hoisting one of Skittery's arms over my shoulder, I covertly slipped the nearer boy a few dollars as a thank you, eyeing Snyder in the background as I did it. He called them back in quickly, and the door slammed shut again. I shuddered involuntarily at the place, glad that part of the night was over, and turned my attention to Skittery.

One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his other was barely cracked open. His breathing was labored. Trying not to groan under his weight, I cracked a smile at him. "Hiya love, how ya doing?" I wrapped my other arm around his waist and began to guide him down the stairs. I hoped he'd come to soon, or I'd never get him back to the lodging house.

"You ca-" His words were cut off as he gasped down the first step. I stopped moving him. "You came." He finished, trying to smile. His face was so black and blue that he just looked frightening.

I tried to smile back. "Of course I did," I answered, hoping he couldn't see how worried I looked. "Let's get down these stairs then we'll take a break before we head back home, okay?"

He gave a murmur of assent, and I pretty much dragged him down the stairs. He bit his lower lip in an effort not to make noise, and I wondered at the full extent of his injuries.

He glanced at me through the slit of his better eye and mumbled something. It sounded a bit like "sit". I'd intended on trying to at least get away from the Refuge building before we stopped, but I couldn't carry him much farther. And it was clear he couldn't move himself. Keeping his arm around my shoulder, I stepped a bit behind him and I sank to the ground. His body effortlessly followed, and he ended up lying across my lap. Cradling his head against my shoulder, I took comfort in feeling his breath steady against my skin. I looked down to ask him if he was comfortable, only to find both his eyes closed, and his mouth slightly open; he'd either passed out or fallen asleep.

Not sure what else to do in the moment, I wrapped my arms around him to keep him warm. We sat that way for at least ten minutes, as we sat silently on the steps of the Refuge.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

* * *

I was just beginning worry about the frost in the air when I began to hear whispers in the shadows. I lifted my head and squinted through the darkness. Then it hit me. The boys had still been planning on breaking him out. "Mush? Blink?" I hissed into the empty street.

A boy popped out of the alley and into the street. "Red? Is that you?" I recognized Mush, with Racetrack, Blink, and Specs following out behind him.

"Shit, is he okay?" Specs ran over ahead of the other boys.

"Yes," I started, looking down. "No. He's alive, I mean. But he's out cold."

"How'd you get him out?" asked Racetrack. When I glanced up, I saw that he was eyeing the broken buttons on my shirt. Indignantly, I handed him the paper and pulled the collar of my shirt up. I glanced around at the other boys, who were clearly pretending not to have noticed as well.

"Forty bucks?!" Race shouted. _Shit_ I thought to myself, I hadn't realized that was on there. "How'd you manage-"

"Don't worry about it," I said coldly, cutting him off. "The important part is that he's out. Can we just get him home?" I began to wonder exactly how this looked through the eyes of the other boys, but I pushed the thoughts aside. Now was not the time to care.

Mush and Specs came over and lifted Skittery off of me and onto their shoulders. The trip back to the lodging house passed in silence.

Once back, we all continued wordlessly up the stairs. No one spoke until Skittery had been laid in his bunk, still unconscious. I leaned over his body, waiting to feel his breath on my cheek to make sure he was still okay. I felt him exhale, and I stood back up.

"I think he's just sleeping," I said to the group of expectant faces. Most of the other newsies were asleep, but Mush, Blink, Racetrack, and Specs all hovered around our bunk. "I think we can wait and have Kloppman take a look at him tomorrow. His main injuries this morning were his eyes," I continued to the boys. "But he seemed to be in more pain when they released him," I glanced at Specs and Mush, since they seemed to be the closest to him out of the all the other boys. "You guys maybe want to give him a once over and make sure he's not hurt bad anywhere else?"

Specs and Mush nodded and headed closer to the bunk. Racetrack grabbed a nearby candle and lit it, placing it on the nightstand, then joined Blink in turning his back on the bunk, making a small human wall to block the site behind them. I joined them with my back turned, and nervously pulled my shirt collar closed again. I could hear Mush and Specs working behind me.

I was glad I hadn't decided to check myself. Now that Skittery was safe here, I felt a little more embarrassed at my perceived actions. And while it was well known that Skittery and I were together last night, I was fairly certain that Skittery had kept the details of our love life a secret, and I now especially didn't need the boys to know how familiar I was with Skittery's body.

A few minutes passed before Mush appeared in front of us. "He seems okay. He's got bruises head to toe, but nothing that seems too dangerous," he explained.

"Alcohol!" I heard Specs loudly whisper behind us.

"Oh yeah," started Mush again. "'Cept he's got a cut on his leg that needs cleaned up. Race, you got that bottle of vodka still?"

Racetrack didn't answer, but walked quickly over to his bunk and came back with a small clear bottle. He handed it to Mush, who disappeared behind us again. I fought the urge to look over my shoulder.

Another minute quickly passed, and Specs and Mush were both in front of us. "He seems okay for the night," Specs reiterated. "But someone should keep an eye on him. Red, I imagine that's you?" He asked, looking at me.

I'd been staring at the floor. I snapped my head up, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'll stay with him."

The boys all nodded and whispered their good nights. I responded with good night and thanks to each of them. As I sat down on the bunk, I realized that Specs was still lingering. He hovered for a moment, and I realized he wanted to talk. I patted a spot on the bed next to me.

He hesitated, then sat. "I know we don't know each other too well," he started, staring at his hat as he spun it in his hands. "But Skittery's always been my best friend here." He paused, searching for his next words. "So, that makes you important to me too," he continued, smiling sadly and glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "So…I wanted to make sure you were okay."

I felt a tug at my heart as I took in Specs words. They were exactly what I'd needed to hear from someone. Before I even realized it, I'd thrown myself at him in a hug, squeezing tight while his hat spun on the floor. He hesitated for a second, then wrapped his arms around my back. I held on for a moment more, holding my breath to make sure I wouldn't start crying when I let go.

He smiled kindly when I pulled away, his eyes full of concern behind his glasses. "Sorry about that," I started, picking up his hat and handing it back to him. I then glanced at the still boy behind us. "I'm just worried about him."

Specs smile widened. "If there is anything I know about Skittery, it's that he's a tough grump. Really though, he'll be fine," he reiterated, seeing the doubt on my face. "He just needs his cute nurse to keep an eye on him," he laughed. His face took on a slightly serious tone as he continued, "That cut is on his left thigh though – just be mindful of it tonight."

I nodded. "Thanks again Specs. I'll take good care of your friend."

He stood to head to his bunk, but turned back briefly. "You sleep in tomorrow, and I'll bring Kloppman up to check on him after all the other boys leave. Sound good?"

"Sounds great. Goodnight Specs."

"'Night Red."

I stood, and walked around so I was on Skittery's right side. Blowing out the bedside candle, I carefully slid in next to him on the bunk, wrapping myself around him, my head on his chest. I felt his body relax a bit against mine as his right arm squeezed me ever so slightly. Concerned, but elated to have him home, exhaustion once again overwhelmed me and I fell quickly asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

* * *

If I woke up briefly when the boys were getting ready to head out for the day, I don't remember it. When I finally opened my eyes, the bunkroom was quiet. I glanced around, trying not to move much so I wouldn't wake up Skittery. We appeared to be the only two in the room.

I laid my head back down on his arm and jumped slightly when I felt his hand on my rear. I glanced up at him, and he quickly shut his good eye to feign sleeping. His hand didn't move.

"I know you're awake," I playfully growled at him. His eye popped back open and he looked down his face at me. A small grin broke across his face.

"You got me there," he said and tightened his grip on my backside.

"Ugh, I've created a monster," I grinned back, trying to swat his hand away. I was afraid to even playfully punch him since he was already one giant bruise. "Would ya move your hand already?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," he teased back. "It's making me healthier. I already feel ten times better."

"Oh, I bet you do," I countered.

"Achem," came a low voice at the foot of the bed. Skittery dropped his hand at the same I jumped, falling out of bed and onto the floor.

I peeked up from the floor to see Specs at the foot of the bed, failing at his attempt to contain his amusement.

"Kloppman's on his way. Thought you two, uh, might want a heads up," he laughed.

"Thanks Specs!" I responded, still on the floor.

"No prob Red! And Skitts, good to see you awake, sir. How ya feeling?"

Specs sat on the edge of the bed as he struck up conversation with his friend. I used this opportunity to dart into the washroom and try to make myself a bit more presentable for the day. Once I'd washed my faced and brushed my hair, I wandered back in to see Kloppman working diligently over Skittery, tending to his swollen eye and cut leg. Specs leaned against the nearby window, watching intently.

I took the spot next to Specs and waited. Kloppman worked quietly, occasionally pulling some ointment or a bandage out of his small first aid kid. Skittery was silent as well, with the exception of a single large gasp. I'd immediately started towards the bed, only to be stopped in place by Spec's hand on my stomach. I looked up at him, and he shook his head, indicating that we should stay where we were.

Not much after that, Kloppman leaned away from the bunk and began packing up his kit. I glanced over his shoulder to see a very bandaged and very tired looking Skittery peering back at me. Kloppman waved Specs and I over and handed me a small bottle and a small vial. He then addressed all three of us:

"Well Skittery, it looks like you got yourself some pretty bruised ribs and a possibly infected eye. You really shouldn't be up and around until they are both healed. I'd give it a week at least. Maybe two." Skittery groaned to himself and stared at the bunk above him. Specs and I nodded in understanding.

"Red has some iodine for your eye and some Laudanum to help you with the pain," Kloppman continued, then turned specifically to Specs and me. "You moderate that Laudanum, you hear? Give it to him to help him sleep, but not too much at once. It's addictive. And expensive. And use the iodine in the morning and at night until the swelling goes down. It'll keep out any infection." We both nodded. He turned back to Skittery. "And the more you can sleep, the faster you heal."

With that, Kloppman gathered up his bag and started shuffling towards the stairs.

Skittery falls back on his pillow, tired and exasperated. Specs walks over and gives him a light punch on the shoulder. Skittery forces a grin at him.

"Another day, another bruise," Specs says with a smile.

"Isn't that supposed to be 'another day, another dollar'?" I chide.

"Yeah, wouldn't that be nice," he laughs back. "Speaking of which, I really should go sell. You two gonna be alright?"

"Oh yeah," yawned Skittery. "Right as rain." His eyelids were already drooping again.

"What I think he means is that he's going to go back to sleep, and I'm going to fix my shirt," I smiled, pulling my collar closed again in vain. I'd have to find some new buttons.

Specs made his departure, and Skittery sleeping soundly. I looked around at the now silent bunkroom – it was eerily quiet. My eyes landed on Skittery's shirt, hanging ripped and bloodstained on the bedpost. _I should get him a new one. _

Promising myself I'd sneak out to buy one that afternoon, I stood up and grabbed the rag of a shirt. Very carefully, I began picking away at the buttons and thread, starting the long process of using them to repair my own damaged top.

Never the most domestic of girls, I was proud of myself for my ingenuity and I grinned into the empty room while I worked.

_I just might be all right here after all_.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

My lack of sewing skills made themselves readily apparent that morning and afternoon, as I gave a valiant effort to repair my shirt. I'd thought I'd accomplished my task a few times, only to have the buttons fall off as soon as I tried to use them.

_"_At least I'm getting plenty of practice," I found myself grumbling quietly on more than one occasion.

Fortunately Skittery slept through the entire ordeal. By the time I was finished, it had to be nearing 2 p.m., and I was starting to wonder if I shouldn't wake him up to make sure he was okay. That thought, however, was interrupted by a small stampede on the stairs, which stopped right on the other side of the bunkroom door. Several loud "Shh's" could be heard, followed by the slow creek of the old hinges. Specs, Mush, and Blink popped their heads out comically and waited for me to wave them into the room.

They clamored over like three unruly kids, anxious to check on their friend.

"So far, so good," I reported. "He's been sleeping since you left, Specs."

Specs and Blink unceremoniously began talking rather loud, clearly bent on waking their friend. It quickly worked, and they began rattling off the events of the day, sparing no detail, as to what Skittery had missed so far.

My attention, however, was drawn to Mush who proudly handed me a white paper bag. "I figured you wouldn't have left the room. So I brought you half my lunch," he beamed. "There's some broth in there for Skitts, too."

My stomach growled, on cue. "Thanks, Mush!"

As I began setting out our lunch, Specs produced a deck of cards.

"Who's in for a few hands? We might as well make the most of getting to play without Race being around." Without waiting for anyone to answer, he began to deal everyone in for Blackjack.

The next two hours went by quickly. The boys began animatedly telling various stories while we played – about the time Mush tried to bring a kitten into the lodging house, about Blink being locked out one night by Kloppman for being too loud, about how all the younger kids tried to sleep in Skittery's bed every time it stormed.

"Speaking of beds," Skittery interrupted the last story as Mush collected his most recent winnings. "I'm damn tired of being in this one." He threw his cards into the pile and turned to stand, wincing as he did.

He seemed to walk without too much trouble, but before making it more than a few steps, Blink stopped him. "Skitt, your leg must be bleeding. A lot." We all glanced down to see that the side of his pants were wet with blood. The sight made me instantly lightheaded.

"We need to stop the bleeding," said Specs, taking charge as Blink helped Skittery sit back down. "Mush – get a towel or something."

I stood by the window, frozen. Specs' words were unusually familiar. But this hadn't happened before. I closed my eyes, and a new memory flashed across my brain. The bus. _My _bus. _Did it crash?_ I felt a panic rising in my throat.

"Um, you guys got his? I need some air," I said quickly as I headed towards the stairs. Not waiting for a reply, I practically ran to get outside, and ducked in a nearby alley for some privacy. _Get it together, Deidre_.

I took some deep breaths and tried to remember. I was on the bus, and we were going over a bridge. And something happened, it hit the railing, hard. I remembered people yelling about someone being cut.

_It was me_. A new image of looking down at my left leg and seeing blood. A lot of blood. Then nothing. On a whim, I pulled up my left pant leg. There, faint against my already pale skin, was a long scar that I don't remember having had before.

_What. The. Hell_.

I fought the new panic attack growing inside me. If I didn't lose it when I first got here, there's no need to lose it now. I started walking, determined there was a rational way this fit together.

I instead repeated the same thoughts to myself as I wandered: _Was the accident somehow related to my being here? Am I dead? Maybe I'm in a coma._

_Nope, probably just crazy_. _And this isn't working_.

As I slowly stopped walking, I remembered that I had a shirt to buy, and this was a perfect way to take my mind off my increasingly manic thoughts.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the lodging house…

"Aww, you guys played without me?!" Racetrack whined as he found his friends counting their winnings –or losses- at Skittery's bunk. He'd just come back from a bad betting day at Sheapshead, and he'd been looking forward to some easy poker winnings.

Skittery, freshly bandaged, worn-out and annoyed at the ordeal from his bleeding leg, ignored him and fell back onto pillow.

Racetrack looked questioningly at Blink and Mush, who looked at each other, not sure what to say. Hearing the silence in the bunkroom, Specs wandered out of the washroom where he'd been washing the blood from the towel they'd used.

"Skittery's not having the best afternoon. His leg started bleeding," Specs explained, then smiled. "Plus, he lost all his money again."

Racetrack nodded and grinned at Skittery. "I'm telling you, you need to let me teach you how to gamble."

"I _know_ how to gamble," he answered, through clenched teeth.

"Suit yourself," Race replied. "You can afford to lose anyway, what with your rich girlfriend and all. Where is she, anyway?"

Skittery sat back up and looked at his friend. "What do you mean, my rich girlfriend?"

Racetracked rolled his eyes. "You know, that redhead you been running around with? The one with the freckles?"

"Cut the crap, Race – what are you talking about?"

Racetrack pulled a piece of paper out of his vest and handed it to Skittery. He glanced at it, then up at all of his friends. "What is this?"

"Red bailed you out. Of the Refuge," Mush offered, with only half his usual grin. "We came to get you last night – to bust you out – but she beat us to it."

Skittery eyed the paperwork again, confused.

"Skitts, look," started Race in a serious tone. "If she ain't rich, where'd she get forty bucks? And if she couldn't get that money, how'd she get that paper?"

Skittery glanced up at his other friends. Blink and Mush glanced uncomfortably at each other then became preoccupied with their boots; Specs had stealthily slipped back into the washroom.

"What are you trying to say here, Race?" Skittery tried his best to look angry but the seeds of doubt were now firmly planted in his mind.

Racetrack held up his hands in defense. "Hey, I love Red, we all do. And I'm glad she got you out of there – with the legal paper to back it up. But we can't all be saints, all the time – not in this life…and I just thought you should know."

"Know what?"

"You should know…I don't know. Maybe just know that apparently there is more to…know…about her," Race finished lamely.

"Well put, Race," Specs snorted, re-entering the room.

"Shut up, four eyes."

Skittery turned his back to his friends, who were all four now teasing and hitting each other. His eyes stayed glued to the bail paper, and he tried desperately to come up with an explanation for how his girl had gotten it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

* * *

"Hey guys!" I had just returned from my freak-out/shopping trip and was excited to show Skittery his new shirt; and in that excitement, I'd failed to notice the tension in the room.

"Skittery, take a look at this," I pulled a new, white button-down out of my bag and held it up. "Your old one was ruined, and I used its buttons to fix my shirt, so I got you this new one." I grinned proudly.

Skittery's expression was blank. Over my shoulder, Racetrack gave him a "see what I mean" look.

"Don't you like it?" I prompted, clueless to the exchange that had just happened. "I think they had other colors…"

Skittery snapped to. "No, it's nice. Great. Thanks." He gave a clearly forced smile.

I sat down on the bed, confused. Then I realized how much of a jerk I must look like. "How's your leg?"

"Oh, it's fine. I just needed a new bandage," he answered. Then, "Where did you go?"

"I'm sorry I left. I don't know what it was, but I got really dizzy and needed fresh air," I started, slightly mortified at my behavior. "Once I was outside, I went for a walk to calm down and decided I should get you a new shirt."

He looked pensive for a moment, then gave me half of his usual lopsided grin and put his arm around me.

I frowned back; something was off. "What's up?" I asked.

He gave my shoulders a squeeze and let go. "The guys are heading to Tibby's for dinner, and I could use some of that fresh air you were talking about."

Skittery stood up, and took a few slow steps towards the door, then stopped. He turned and looked at me, sitting on his bed, still holding his new shirt. I could almost see the gears turning in his head.

After what felt like a century, his eyes lightened a bit and he gave me a fuller smile. "Can I wear my new shirt?"

Not realizing I'd been holding my breath, I exhaled deeply. "Of course." I walked over to him and watched as he tried it on. It fit near perfectly – just a little big around his lean frame.

"Looks good," I offered. "We need to get you some proper meals, and it'll fit even better."

"I could definitely use one – but I'll buy tonight, okay?" He gave me a slightly anxious look.

It was an odd request, but one I could comply with. "Sure thing." And with that, he grabbed some change from the drawer by his bed and we began a slow walk to the restaurant.

* * *

The evening at Tibby's was a rowdy one, although Skittery was a subdued version of his already slightly brooding self. He would laugh and joke with his friends, but his happiness never reached his eyes; they held a dull gloss all night. I couldn't decide if he was just tired from his recovery or if we were back on the roller coaster of his emotions.

Although his behavior since that afternoon had seemed…off…I chalked it up to the former. By around 8 p.m., he was clearly in need of a bed. The hours out had clearly taken their toll on his healing body, and his was fighting a losing battle against heavy eyelids.

By 8:30, he begrudgingly admitted defeat, and we headed back to the lodging house – leaving a noisy crowd behind us. After that bunch, the silence of the streets was almost deafening.

After a few minutes of walking together in silence, Skittery finally spoke.

"You'd tell me if you were in trouble, right?" He glanced down at me, concern clearly on his face.

I tried to keep my expression calm as I returned his gaze. I sorted through possible answers in my head, trying to decide on one that was not a lie, but also wouldn't have him dropping me off at an institution.

"I think you'd know if I was in trouble," I answered a moment later, once again trying that innocent look on him.

He gave a small smile back, and put his arm around me. What I didn't notice was that he muttered to himself, "That's what I was afraid of."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

* * *

I awoke the next morning to the sound of rustle of newspaper. I cracked open an eye to the full lit, and practically empty, bunk room. Skittery lay behind me, reading the previous day's headlines.

We'd gone to sleep the previous night without much conversation. Skittery was out cold shortly after his head hit the pillow, while I'd lain awake trying to figure out what had prompted his previous night's question. Apparently once I'd fallen asleep – somewhere around 3 a.m., I'd guessed – I'd been dead to the world.

I stretched and turned to face Skittery. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," he answered, eyes still on the paper. "How'd you sleep?"

"Not well," I replied honestly; I had a feeling I had the dark circles under my eyes to prove it. Before I could even ask he was doing today, Skittery abruptly stopped reading the paper and laid it on his lap.

"How did you bail me out?" He didn't look at me as he asked this, but just continued to stare forward, focused on some point across the room.

Before I can answer, he continues.

"Race gave me this," and from between the pages of his newspaper, he pulls out his bail receipt. "How did you afford this? And my new shirt?" His voice quiets. "…and that hotel room?"

He finally glances at me, and his eyes wander to his old buttons now sewn onto my shirt. He turns away and resumes staring at the wall.

I quickly realize where these questions are leading. And his insinuation is far more believable than the truth. _Hell, I don't even believe the truth_.

The bunkroom suddenly seems too small, the air too stale. I look back at Skittery and he's waiting for an answer.

Not knowing what yet to say, I instead just stand. "You think you might be up for a walk?"

* * *

Now I had every intention of using our stroll as the time to tell him everything. I just needed to think of _how_. But instead of walking clearing my brain, every step we took made the tension grow thicker, and my mind grow foggier.

"Well?" Skittery broke the silence. "Are you going to tell me what's going on, or did you just bring me out here to limp around?"

"Fine," I started, more on the defensive than I'd intended to be. "Remember the day we met? You made comment about the about of money I have?"

"Yeah, and?"

I sighed. This was not going quite as planned. "Well, you were right. I _do_ have quite a bit. With me, right now, I mean. Not in general – I'm not rich."

"And?"

"And what?" I huffed. _Why can't he let this go._

"And how did you get it? Why do you have it?" From the look I saw in his eye, he didn't seem sure he wanted to know the answer.

"When I came to New York, I brought most of my money with me. Just about all of it." _That's pretty much the truth_.

"Where did you get all that money?"

"Working. I had a good job."

He chewed his lip as we continued walking. I waited for the next question.

Finally, "What kind of job?"

"A boring one. In an office," I answered, hoping this would end the interrogation. "I was just really good at saving." I smiled and glanced up at him, and saw the concern leave his eyes.

"And that's it?" His face is showing the hint of what might be his first smile of the day.

_Other than knowing why I'm _here_ and why I bought it all with me._ "Yep, that's just about it." I squeezed his hand, waiting for a response.

He squeezed it back and gave me that lopsided grin I loved. He looked relieved.

_Then why do I still feel so terrible_? I couldn't help but think that this wouldn't be the end of this conversation.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

The tension significantly lessened, we chatted sporadically as we wandered aimlessly. Skittery was seeming to thoroughly enjoy his outdoor time, and while we still walked slowly, the stress of his injuries left his face with each step.

That is, until we found ourselves staring up at a gigantic, marble arch. Skittery had abruptly stopped walking. I immediately began to admire the structure, gazing at it as it towered royally over Washington Square Park. It wasn't until I realized that Skittery had also stopped talking that I glanced up at him. His face had returned to its previous pale, injured state.

"Skittery?" I asked softly, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze.

Jarred from his fugue state, he gave my hand a quick squeeze back, but his eyes remained on the arch. "I didn't even realize where I was leading us…" he trailed off.

"Why don't we go sit down?" I prompted, leading him towards the lush grass of the park.

"What?" He seemed to snap to attention again, finally acknowledging that I was there. "Um, yeah."

_Maybe he's gotten too much sun_, I thought to myself, completely clueless as to this new category to his strange behavior. I lead him over to a small knoll under a particularly shady tree and helped him sit down. He was barely sitting when his eyes were back on the arch.

"So…" I started, wondering if he'd even hear me. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

He broke his staring contest with the landmark and made a sad attempt at smile. "I haven't been here in five years – just surprised that it's where my feet led me."

"Why not?" I asked. "This place is great." I gestured to the wide park, the trees, and the large open area below the arch, where I'd often seen bands perform. Granted, not in this century, but he didn't need to know that.

He began picking at the grass. "My mom used to take me here, when I was little," he started quietly, his voice distant.

_Oh. _I'd wondered about his parents since I met him, but had always been too nervous to ask. Unsure what to say now, I just waited for him to continue.

But he didn't. We sat there in silence for a few minutes while he butchered the lawn.

"How long ago was that?" I finally prompted.

He appeared to be doing some counting in his head. "I was eleven last time we came here together," he answered, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice.

He gave me a sideways glance and caught me staring at him expectedly. Dropping the grass he was picking, he hugged his knees and sighed.

"You really want to know?"

I nodded.

He proceeded to tell me about his family. His dad, Irish, the devoted husband and father who worked at a factory downtown. His little brother – always small for his age but very bright. His mother, French, always a little wild, and never seemed really happy.

"Her hair was brown, like mine," he smiled a little, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. "But in the sun, it always looked a little red." He glanced at my hair and laughed a little at his own private joke. "I think you would really like her," he said and grinned to himself.

"Will I get to meet her someday?"

"I doubt it." He was back to picking the poor grass. "I haven't seen her for eight years."

I searched for the right answer to respond with, but had nothing.

"What about your dad?"

"Haven't seen him in nine."

I was about to ask about his brother, and I thought about all the younger boys at the lodging house. Then I remembered the story the other newsies told about Skittery's scars coming from defending the little kids at the Refuge.

"Is your little brother still around?"

"No," he started. "At least I don't think so. I'm not sure I'd recognize him even if he were." He threw a tuft of grass at nearby tree and went back to hugging his knees.

_So that's why he's always acting like the big brother_.

I opened my mouth – to say what, I'm not sure – but he continued.

"My mom was never happy living in the city, so my parents seemed to fight all the time. I think she wanted to go back to France. After a while, she stopped fighting and just started drinking. My dad hated it, and when I was almost 11, he'd had enough."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So he took my little brother and left. He said I was old enough to be the one to take care of Mama now. He said that things weren't good for my little brother, so they had to leave.

"After that, she just drank more. The only time she ever seemed happy is when we came here – every Saturday she brought me. They started building this" – he pointed at the arch – "that year. We came ever week and watched them work."

"Then what happened?" I asked, resting a hand on his arm.

The bitterness returned to his voice, exponentially angrier than before. "I'd just started to trust her, you know? I thought we were going to be okay. She'd started drinking less, even got a job. Then, one day she left for work and never came back."

_Bingo. _Everything made sense now – no wonder he didn't trust people well and was constantly thinking I was leaving. _Way to go, Mom_.

"I still came here ever Saturday for a while, wondering if she'd be here. She never was, of course."

"Is that when you started selling papers?" I asked quietly.

This elicited a small smile. "I actually met Specs here one Saturday – he tried to sell me a paper. When I told him I have no money, he told me to get a job and started walking away. I ran after him, and had him teach me to be a newsie. That's when I stopped coming here."

"But you said you hadn't been here for five years. When did you come back?"

"Good catch," he smiled at me, apparently now reliving happier moments in his childhood. "When I was 14, Specs said he heard they were replacing the wooden arch they'd built with this one. Made it marble, just like in Paris. Said it was a remake of the Arc duh trio…t-something," he stumbled over the name of the original arch.

"Arc D'Triomphe," I finished for him. "Means "triumph."

He shot me a slightly strange look, then continued his story. "Yeah..., that. Anyway, we came to see it once it was done. Figured I might as well see what my mom had always been talking about – what the French one looked like."

I glanced thoughtfully at the monument, remembering my own trip to France when I was in high school. "It does look a lot like the original. Only smaller," I said without realizing what I was doing.

"What?" His question was almost a growl.

I felt myself blushing. How was I going to explain myself this time?

"You've seen the original?" He was struggling to get to his feet now. I tried to lend a hand but he shrugged me off.

"You've been to Paris." This wasn't a question.

"Yeah, I guess I have."

"You guess?!" He was up and pacing now, his voice growing rapidly louder. "_You guess?! _You said you'd told me everything!"

I heard myself gulp. This was the angriest I'd seen him yet.

_Now what?_


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

"I can't believe you," he spat. "You lied to me."

This was the third or fourth time he'd said this, pacing and shouting at me while I sat in the grass. I was beginning to gather my bearings.

"I didn't technically _lie_ to you," I started, but was quickly cut off.

"Don't," he ordered. "You – just forget it." He stormed away as best as his injured leg would carry him, but stopped after about 20 feet. I could see his anger transitioning into sadness and frustration as he glanced up at the arch, then stared at the ground and sighed.

A few moments later, he walked slowly back. I stood up, almost flinching as I waited for his next bought of anger to be unleashed.

"Look," he started in a slow, controlled voice. "You know why I told you all that? About my parents, where _I _came from? Because I decided you were worth it. You mattered - I wanted you to know."

"Skittery - " I wanted so badly to apologize, but he cut me off again.

"Let me finish," he continued, clearly trying to rein in his emotions. "And since I decided that, I realize now that I'd be no better than _her_" – he nodded his head towards the arch – "if I left now."

I gave a visible sigh of relief.

"But." He glanced up at me, his eyes fiercely bright. "If you want to continue to matter to me, I expect you to return my favor and tell me where you came from. All of it."

I stared at my boots.

"Now," he ordered.

"You're not going to believe me," I whispered, still avoiding eye contact.

"Try me," he challenged.

So I finally told him everything.

* * *

"The future." He repeated, his voice monotone. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if I'd just given him a headache. "Maybe you're not a liar. Maybe you're just crazy." He stared off into space for a moment, contemplating. Then his eyes lit up, like he had an idea.

"Maybe I'm dreaming. Or I have a fever, on account of my cut." As he leaned over to look at his leg, I gave him a quick pinch on the arm.

"Hey!" he snapped, glaring at me. "What gives?"

"Proving you're not dreaming," I answered. "Besides, I've been wondering – hoping – that this is all just a dream. So far, seems real."

Skittery rubbed his arm and continued to stare at me.

"Still don't believe, me? Fine." And with that, I dumped out the contents of my backpack, which fortunately had barely left my side since I got here. Out spilled my laptop, phone, and the H&M David Beckham underwear.

"Proof," I said, showing him my phone and laptop. "Also, these are for you." I handed him the H&M box.

As he sat there, an incredulous look on his face, I gave him another quick pinch to the arm. He gave me a "what was that for" look, but much less angry this time.

"Just reminding you that you aren't dreaming."

He gave a quick laugh, and a small smile. Then, without warning, he stood and started walking towards the arch. I sat and watched him as he stood admiring it for several minutes, until something on the side of it caught his attention.

Skittery stooped over to stare at one particular spot on the arch. It took me several seconds before I realized he seemed to be reading something. He stood, looked around, then bent over to re-read it.

_What on earth is he doing?_

When he stood back up, an entirely new look on his face. He rubbed the back of his arm where I pinched him, and glanced in my direction. His lopsided grin was in full form and he looked entirely amused as he began wandering aimlessly around the arch.

I couldn't help but grin back through my confused look, and was really curious what prompted that response in him. I repacked my bag and wandered over to where he'd been reading. I noticed a small quote engraved on the side of the monument:

"Let us raise a standard to which the wise and the honest can repair. The event is in the hand of God" – Washington

A chill ran down my spine. The full understanding of what had happened in the park today began to hit me. Somehow, everything seemed to make sense.

I repeated the quote to myself. _"Let us raise a standard to which the wise and honest can repair." _Hadn't that just happened? My coming here – and the mess I made while doing so – had ultimately caused Skittery to come to some life-changing revelations. I felt proud for a second, but quickly realized that while my mildly controlling behavior may have contributed, it was Skittery who'd done the work. _Wise and honest for sure. _And was he repaired? _It's at least a start_.

As I continued to think it through, my head spun - once again landing on the question I'd had since I'd woken up in the alley, which now felt like years ago. _But why am I even here_? I stared back at the quote, re-reading the second part.

"… The event is in the hand of God."

"Deus ex machina," I whispered to myself.

Still shocked, I looked up at Skittery, who still had a very amused look on his face as he wandered under the arch, appearing as if he'd just now really seen it for the first time. His eyes were newly alive, as if he'd just been let in on some big life secret.

I glanced back to the quote.

_Maybe he had been_.


End file.
